The Generation Gap: Episode 13

Divya watched as the bus slowed to a halt, the attendant lady standing with a perfunctory look as she pulled the door open for the hundredth time that day. Divya hated that she was one of the first people on the bus everyday and Kalpana one of the last, which meant nearly half an hour of mind-numbing boredom. Until a few years they hadn’t even been in the same class. It was a wonder they’d even become friends. Maybe it was the fact that there were so few other girls in the bus, and that the boys were all either weird or repulsive.

Kalpana walked down the aisle looking almost sickly. She took one look at Divya’s knowing smirk and made a face.

“How many bricks have you shat since the morning?” Divya said.

“Enough to build myself a new house, because mom’s probably gonna kick my ass out after she sees the results,” Kalpana said.

“You always overreact. You don’t even know what the paper’s like.”

“Easy for you to say,” she said. “You’ve probably finished your fifth revision by now.”

“Dude, honestly, I barely studied for this exam.”

“You’re a fraud, Divya. That’s a lie and you know it.”

“Fine, have it your way,” Divya said. “Want me to help you revise now, at least?”

“Yeah, no. Looking at a now textbook might just trigger me.”

The bus rumbled noisily down the road, starting and stopping in the traffic, and they were rocked to and fro in a dull, ponderous rhythm. Kalpana felt herself drifting off to sleep, the warmth of the bus wrapping itself about her, drawing her eyelids shut. She’d barely slept last night. It wasn’t so much that she’d stayed up late to study — she’d done all she could about that.

But her conversation with Gaurav hadn’t left her mind since that day. What he said before he left. It just played over and over in her head. Why did he keep mentioning Divya? She tried to think back to that day at the café, tried to remember if there had been something Divya had done, something she’d said that would make Gaurav think those things.

But she’s not like that. She’s never been like that. Divya wouldn’t do that to anyone, especially not me.

And yet, she couldn’t believe Gaurav would lie to her about this. That wasn’t like him. Perhaps he was just wrong. Yes, that was possible. He was just misreading her behaviour and it was his huge bloody ego that was making him think like that.

She heard the familiar sound of children talking and shouting as the bus took a right turn, and she opened her eyes to the sight of the school compound. Divya was asleep next to her, and Kalpana found herself staring at her for a few seconds. If only she knew what was going on in my head just now. She’d probably walk out of here and never talk to me again.

The classroom they were writing the exam in was about half-full when they walked in. Some people were had their heads bent over textbooks, mouths moving like a goldfish’s as they tried to squeeze 2, maybe 3 more useless pieces of information into their heads.

“It’s kind of pathetic, honestly,” Kalpana said, her lips pursed in disdain.

“You can’t deny it gets them results,” Divya said.

“But look at them! They look like zombies swallowing and regurgitating sentences word-to-word from a textbook. They have no idea how institutionalised they are.”

Divya dropped her bag on the table, looked at Kalpana with a measure of scorn.

“And you just happen to be one of those ‘woke’ people who sees through the whole façade like that guy in the Matrix? Get over yourself, Kalpana.”

Kalpana was about to retort when she saw someone entering from the corner of her eye. Surabhi walked into the classroom with Lakshmi in tow like a puppy tailing her master, and the girls settled in a seat in the middle row. When she turned and noticed Kalpana and Divya, her eyes lit up.

“Oh my god, you guys are in the same exam room?” She jumped up and walked up to the two of them. “That’s so cool! I had no idea.”

“Yeah, that’s some coincidence, huh?” Kalpana said unenthusiastically, which Surabhi noticed.

“Oh Kalpana, you’re so jokey, man,” she said, tittering politely.

She felt a kick on her shin just as Divya leaned forward.

“So anyway, how were the study holidays?” she said, smiling genially. “Got any actual studying done? I know I didn’t.”

Surabhi chuckled. “Well, actually Kiran organised these group studies at his place with a bunch of people from our batch. We all studied together, so I guess we got something done? I don’t know, we’ll see today.”

She paused a moment.

“Oh, wait, Kalpana, you’d come for the group study too, right? I mean, at least in the beginning. Then you ran off with that Gaurav fellow.” She chuckled politely again, and to anyone else listening to the conversation, it would have seemed no more than a simple tease between friends. Kalpana’s fists clenched, but she felt Divya’s foot on hers, pressed and held down.

“Anyway, I’m just glad we’re getting done with chemistry today,” Surabhi continued as if totally unaware of what she’d just said. “But honestly Divya, your boyfriend’s the best.”

Divya’s eyes suddenly shot to Surabhi’s face, a small frown forming.

“Who, Bharath?”

“Yeah, of course. Why, is there someone else we don’t know about?”

“No, I was just not sure what you meant.”

“Wait, he didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Divya’s voice was a little louder. There was a tightness in her tone.

“Oh, I didn’t realise he never told you,” Surabhi said sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Surabhi, what are you talking about?” She was beginning to sound slightly manic. “What was Bharath supposed to tell me?”

Surabhi covered her mouth in an almost mockery of surprise. “Oh, oh no, it’s nothing major, Divya. He’s just been coming over to give me some organic chemistry lessons, that’s all. It’s no big deal, I just thought he’d told you.”

“He’s been going to your place to teach you chemistry?” Divya said. Kalpana noticed the way she’d grabbed hold of the table’s edge, the redness creeping up her fingers.

“Yeah,” Surabhi said blithely, “I only asked him because he’d topped in chem last year. He’s so smart, man. And so patient. The only reason I’m passing today is because of him, not even joking.”

“That’s an awful lot of studying in just a month, Surabhi,” Kalpana said in a dead tone. “I never took you for the academic type.”

“I know, right?” she said. “Even I never guessed you’d actually land a boyfriend. That’s awesome, I’m so happy for you!”

The teacher strode into class just as Kalpana opened her mouth, and the whole room became a frenzy of activity as people stuffed their books back in their bags and went to leave them outside the door.

“All the best, guys!” Surabhi said cheerfully.

“All the best,” Lakshmi said with forced smile, before carrying her bag and Surabhi’s outside.

The exam seemed to take forever, and the right words just didn’t come to Kalpana’s mind as she sat staring at the paper, pen lying limp in her hand. She found herself staring at the hands of the clock more than once a minute, and every time she did, it seemed like they’d barely moved. She could not get her mind off her conversation with Surabhi, and the look on Divya’s face. The implication was plain to her, though she wasn’t sure how much of it was true.

And yet, so what if it was? Couldn’t that have been all that happened? Kalpana was well aware of Surabhi’s intentions by saying that, but perhaps it was no more than a malign bluff. Bharath never lacked for female attention, and he was their senior besides. Surabhi wasn’t exactly known for being completely truthful. There was no reason to believe this wasn’t another one of those times. 3 hours passed as she languished there, the last half hour a frantic scramble to get words onto the page.

Her heart sank as the teacher reached her table, yanking out the answer sheets right from under her pen, and she looked longingly at the paper, silently wishing she hadn’t wasted nearly all her time on Surabhi’s poison.

The chatter in the room had grown to a dull roar. Tables and chair slid as they were pushed and students stood up, packing in their stationery as they talked excitedly about the paper.

“Hey, did you 46 joules on this question?”

“Dude, I completely forgot that formula! I wasted like 10 minutes solving trying to balance this equation.”

“I didn’t answer 3 whole questions, man. I’m failing this time for sure.”

Kalpana had to tune out the voices to even be able to think clearly as she dumped her stuff in her bag and walked up to Divya. They could hear Surabhi from the other side of the room.

“That was so easy, Lakshmi, I explained that to you just yesterday,” she said, grabbing the paper from the small girl and looking at it with irritation. Divya and Kalpana watched her derisively explain the answer to her.

“Wonder who taught her that,” Divya said, slinging her bag on to her back, not taking her eyes off Surabhi.

“Divvu…” Kalpana said in a low voice, reaching for her arm. Divya pulled away roughly, walking out of the classroom without saying another word. Surabhi had noticed that, Kalpana knew. She hadn’t a shadow of doubt this was what she’d been waiting to see the whole time they’d been writing the exam.

Kalpana sighed. She didn’t know what to say to Divya except that she hoped it was a lie. That, sure, Bharath might have taught her some chemistry at home and nothing more. That she was just overreacting and she’d just need to call him and talk to him, she’ll see.

Surabhi’s eyes met hers then, and Kalpana realised in that moment nothing she could say would fix the damage she’d done.

---

Vimala pressed the button to the 4th floor of the lift, and the doors seemed to collide with an ominous finality as they closed off her view of the wide, well-lit building entrance. Now there was only cold fluorescent lights illuminating the clinical interior of the lift. This wouldn’t have bothered under any other circumstance. But looking at the smooth lift door and seeing the reflection of a man a foot taller than her made her gut stiffen.

The numbers on the lift display rose, but not nearly fast enough. These were old buildings, and this lift could be half her age for all she knew. The seconds ticking by seemed eternally prolonged, and she found herself hoping desperately that the lift wouldn’t stop halfway. She looked first at his face, then at is hands to make sure they didn’t move. They didn’t.

Kaanta stood unnervingly still even as the doors opened, waiting for her to step out before he did. They walked together across the short corridor towards the now familiar office on the other side. He didn’t say a word. They stopped in front of the Dion Productions office, and Vimala looked at him hesitantly. He nodded his head to the door, and Vimala reluctantly obliged.

Nandan was the first to see her come in. His smile was taut, guarded as he reached for a handshake.

“Hey, so glad to see you again,” he said, sounding anything but glad. His eyes stole a glance at Kaanta before returning to Vimala, an expression of discomfort settling on his face. “So you’re gonna be working for us after all.”

“I wouldn’t say for you,” Kaanta said, and Vimala realised it was the first time she’d ever heard him speak. “More like with you. I thought Rajanna made that clear.”

“Yes, yes, of course he did,” Nandan said, not able to meet the rowdy’s eyes for more than a second, “I just said it without thinking, that’s all.”

The look on his face amused Vimala, and she couldn’t help but notice the way Nandan’s hand moved unconsciously to his chest.

The restroom door opened and Surya stepped out. It was a small office with thin walls, and she figured their voices had carried because there was no surprise when he appeared. Only resignation. Despite everything that had happened, it bothered her that the first place she would work in after she’d been fired from Radhakrishna Studios welcomed her with contempt and loathing. She wasn’t exactly thrilled about it, either. Vimala couldn’t see any way this would be healthy or even last very long. I’ll be spending more time putting out fires than doing actual work. She sighed.

“So you’re here,” he said, his tone stiff, awkward.

“It wasn’t really my decision,” Vimala said, meeting his eyes. “Why? You’re not excited to see me?”

“I’m thrilled, actually,” he said. “Can’t wait to see what you’re going to do here.”

“I hope you don’t intend on making me meet with your clients,” Vimala said. “I might accidentally tell them what the contract says instead of trying to hide it under some meaningless clauses and sweet talk.”

“You’re an idiot if you didn’t read the document carefully and a hypocrite if you did and just didn’t bring it up because you were so desperate. Either way, it’s not my problem, because the fucking contract wasn’t in my hands in the first place.”

“When you three are done catching up,” Kaanta said, standing, “you can join me in here.” He walked up to a glass door that led to Nandan’s cabin, pulling the door open. He turned to face them and the look in his eyes communicated in no uncertain terms he meant right now.

Vimala and the two men followed Kaanta into the room, and the gangster gestured to some chairs sitting before the desk. He went to the high-backed swivel chair behind the desk, dragging it out to the middle of the cabin and sitting heavily down. The sudden creak made Nandan stiffen visibly, and he did not relax in his chair after that.

“Dion Studios as it once was doesn’t exist anymore,” Kaanta said. “I think you knew that, but I’m going to make things as explicit as possible, because I won’t be on speed-dial ready to solve every little problem you guys will have. And definitely not Rajanna. I’m going to make that perfectly clear right now before we speak about anything else.

“We’re assigning an accountant who’s going to be in charge of the studio’s finances. He’ll close all affiliated accounts the studio currently has and open new ones. He will know of every rupee that enters and leaves Dion, and he reports directly to me and Rajanna. You’re going to cooperate with him absolutely and unquestioningly.”

“Do you mind not leaning so far back in the chair?” Nandan said sheepishly. “It’s pretty expensive.”

Surya looked at his partner as if he were an idiot. “What is wrong with you?”

“Rajanna’s decided not to involve himself in matters regarding the business itself,” Kaanta went on, his position unchanged. “He believes you’re capable of running a successful studio without his intervening. But that naturally comes with its caveats. We will be closely monitoring your operations, and it won’t take us long to figure it out if you’re trying to run the company to the ground on purpose. That conversation will be…less than pleasant.” Kaanta’s small, inset eyes studied them with an almost hungry attention, and he seemed to delight in their discomfiture.

“Why does your boss want a production house in the first place?” Vimala asked. “It has nothing to do with his line of business.”

The large man smirked as though he’d been expecting the question. “He likes movies. He decided he wants to make them.”

Vimala looked at him for a few seconds, confused. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“It’s not some front for turning his black money white?”

“Why would he tell us that?” Surya said, not bothering to veil his contempt.

“I suppose it serves that purpose, too,” Kaanta said, “but that’s not the endgame. Why does everything have to have some ulterior motive?”

Vimala looked at him curiously. It would be impossible to tell if he were lying, of course, but she got the feeling this wasn’t something he was just saying to get her to stop asking questions. Maybe Rajanna’s reasons were that simple. It was hard to imagine, if she was being honest with herself. But then again, maybe that’s because she’d grown so used to people not revealing the true intentions behind what they did. So painfully used to it. It was an odd feeling, to be sure…but not unwelcome.

Kaanta stood up from his chair, startling Vimala.

“I think I’ve spent enough time conselling you three. I expect you all to behave like adults and run the business as your own, because in every sense except on paper, it is. Rajanna will contact you if there’s anything regarding production he wants to talk to you about. You are not to try and contact him through any means except through the accountant. He’ll be coming in tomorrow. Along with your first movie contract.”

The three of them were jolted alert by those words.

“First movie contract?” Nandan said. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ll meet him tomorrow. Vimala, I expect you to review his screenplay and begin editing it. You two, work out the details of the contract and prepare for production.”

“No, wait, sir, who are you talking about?” Vimala said. “Who is this guy? What kind of movie are we doing?”

“How the hell should I know? Talk to him.”

“You can’t drop this on us and expect us to just go with it, man!” Surya said, standing. “This female’s just come in today. How do you expect us to settle in that quickly?”

Kaanta’s eyes bored into Surya, black, burning embers set in his wide face that turned the smaller man’s insides to liquid. Surya reached limply for the armrest, sitting back down in his chair.

“You could have been dead and buried in some godforsaken patch of dirt where your body would never have been found and your family would go the rest their lives never having known what happened to you. He didn’t have to give you a second chance. That could still change. Just remember that.”

They didn’t turn to watch him leave as Kaanta left the cabin, the sound of the front door closing faint, seeming to echo across the walls. Funny, Vimala thought. It had never echoed in here before.

The Generation Gap: Episode 12

“Merry Christmas, you filthy animal. And a happy new year.” A machine gun let rip in the apartment, the bullets tearing up the sofa and destroying the Christmas tree.

Kalpana sat with her head resting on Gaurav’s chest, arms wrapped around him, her eyes partially glazed looking at the TV. Macaulay Kulkin’s startled face filled the screen. She turned to look at Gaurav.

“Remind me why we’re watching Home Alone?” she said with a dull gaze at him.

“Because we are home alone,” he said without looking away from the TV. “Besides, this is Home Alone: Lost in New York.”

“Same thing.”

Gaurav gasped theatrically. “You did not just say that.”

Kalpana smiled sleepily. “Yes I did.”

“Well, I’m glad I found out early that this relationship is based on lies and not caring for your partner’s sensitivities.”

“What would be left if we didn’t have that? Just your horrible, horrible puns.”

“The boyfriend continues to be silently maligned.”

Kalpana laughed and leaned over to kiss his cheek, then just looked at him.

Gaurav raised his eyebrows. “Well, when you put it like that, I daresay it’s almost worth it.”

“Almost, huh?” Kalpana said, getting up and going to the table. She poured herself a glass of water. “What would you do if I decided to just dump your ass one day?”

“Drown myself in an alcohol-filled pit of sadness and self-loathing until the darkness takes me,” he said, checking his phone.

“You’d do that over me?” she said, taking a sip. “I’m flattered.”

“Yes, but right now, I’ve got to get going,” he said, turning around. “I’m meeting Rohini for lunch.”

“And leaving me?” Kalpana’s tone was only half-joking.

Gaurav smirked. “Oh, shut up. I practically spend all day with you. It’s just lunch, Kalpu.”

“Where are you going?” she said. “Can I come, too?”

He gave her a tight smile. “I’d have asked you to join me, but I thought I’d hang out with just Rohini this time. She’s super pissed-off that I haven’t met her the whole of last week. Besides, I’ve spent all this time with you and no one else.”

“Yeah, but I’m your girlfriend.”

“And she’s been my friend for the past 10 years. I’ve known her a lot longer than I’ve known you.”

“What’s that even supposed to mean?” She didn’t bother concealing her shock at what he’d said.

“It means that I’d like to spend some time with my friends without you. I don’t think that’s unreasonable, Kalpana.”

For a few angry moments, Kalpana didn’t know if she should say what was on her mind. She hesitated, turning away and walking to the fridge. “It’s not just any friend, though, is it?” she said, as she searched the fridge. She wasn’t even hungry.

She heard him release a long, impatient breath. “Are we seriously having this conversation right now? It’s Rohini, for god’s sake. What’s wrong with you?”

Kalpana bit her lip, feeling a twinge of regret for saying what she did. But she didn’t want to back down.

“Fine. Why are you still standing there? Go.”

There was a long pause, and just so she wouldn’t have to stare blankly at the fridge for a whole minute, she got out a carton of juice and poured it in a glass.

Gaurav finally spoke. “Why don’t you ask Divya to bring Bharath guy with her every time you guys hang out? Tell me how that goes.”

He started toward the door, then stopped. “Oh, wait, never mind. That’s definitely a bad idea.” He snickered, slipping his shoes on and walking out the door.

*

Vimala stared at her computer, a blank white page displayed. The text cursor blinked desultorily, bored of waiting for words to form on the screen. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, but the very thought of committing words to the page filled her with trepidation. Of course she could delete whatever she’d written, start afresh. But what if even that wasn’t good enough? What if she spent hours, days, one draft after another, and nothing worth a damn came of it?

She’d never felt this way before. This wasn’t writer’s block the way she knew it to be. Or maybe it was, she didn’t know anymore. But it felt different. It wasn’t that she didn’t know what she was supposed to write so much as it was…fear. Prakash had sent her script to more than a dozen production houses, almost 20, and he’d only gotten a reply from one. And Dion had been desperate.

She’d begun to wonder if there really wasn’t a difference between her and the writers who scripted those other shows. Those awful, hammy, senseless TV serials she’d been so disdainful of all her career—and yet she’d been part of several over the years, believing something better would happen if she just kept at it. If she could just graduate from the mediocrity of those shows, if she could just get her one big break…

A break she didn’t think she even deserved anymore. Vimala’s laptop screen remained blank, and—she despised the very thought—maybe it was better it stayed that way.

The doorbell rang. She sighed, staring wistfully at the empty screen, forcing herself to stand up. Opening the door, she found her eyes level with a man’s chest, wide-set shoulders blocking the entire doorway. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw who it was.

Kaanta pushed past her and entered the apartment. Behind him stood Rajanna, his face lit up in a broad, charming smile.

“May I?” he said.

Rajanna sat across from her on the sofa, regarding her curiously, almost with fascination. Vimala felt the hairs on the back of her neck tingling, her discomfort pitifully obvious to the gangster. She couldn’t make eye contact for longer than a couple of seconds. Rajanna turned to Kaanta, who was standing to his side.

“What are you, a waiter?” he said. “Sit down.” The hulking man sat down next to his boss.

“Look, Rajanna,” Vimala began with what little courage she had left, “I can explain it, okay? I spoke to them, and I told them everything you told me. I swear I did. You know I want this more than anyone. I—I went there and I talked and it just didn’t happen. It—it just…they refused to listen, Rajanna. You have to understand, I’ve never done this bef—“

“Oh my god, stop talking,” Rajanna said, looking at her as if she’d gone insane. Vimala’s heart was still thudding in her chest, and the blood was rushing so furiously in her temples she felt about to explode.

The don was still looking at incredulously. “I have no idea what the hell that was about, but anyway,” he shook his head, raising his eyebrows momentarily, “I’ve come to congratulate you on a job well done.”

That seemed to wake Vimala up from her haze of fear, and she looked at him in utter bemusement.

“What?”

“Surya called me yesterday. Told me about your meeting with them. He also told me how much he despises the idea of working with a criminal, but in the end, he’s agreed to sell me Dion.” He smiled. “Now how about that?”

The words struck Vimala like a bolt of lightning, and she almost thought she’d faint. She was hyperventilating as she looked at Rajanna, then Kaanta, then Rajanna again.

“Seriously?” she said, short of breath. “He said that? I mean, of course. He agreed to sell, of course. Yes. Yes! Thank god!”

Rajanna watched her with amusement the way someone would an excited child.

“Yes, well, that’s why I came here. You managed to do in a day what I haven’t been able to for more than a year. So I thank you for that. And in return, I’ll hold up my end of the bargain. You shall be paid the 1.3 lakhs in full.”

Vimala felt her eyes welling with tears. “Thank you. Oh my goodness, thank you, thank you! I don’t know what to say, I’m—I can’t believe this.”

“I must mention, though,” Rajanna said, leaning back against the sofa, “that Surya fellow, he’s a cocky bastard. Even now, after all that’s happened, he only agreed to sell to me if I accepted his condition.”

Vimala wiped her eyes. “Condition? What condition?”

“He said he’d only sell if you came aboard as creative talent. He was pretty adamant about it, too. You, not anyone else. You seem to have made quite the impression on him.” Rajanna smiled disingenuously.

Vimala felt as though the carpet had been swept out from under her, and beneath it there was no floor. There was nothing. She was falling, swallowed into some dark, endless abyss and the light she’d seen mere moments ago had been snatched away, growing smaller and smaller into a pinprick before disappearing entirely. She stared at Rajanna blankly, not quite registering what he’d just said to her.

“I know,” Rajanna said sympathetically. “It would mean working for a criminal, right?”

Vimala felt a sudden burst of anger, the image of her fists slamming into Surya’s face played in her head over and over again. That bastard. That fucking rat-bastard. That son of a bitch, I knew it! I should never have gone there, I should never have, never, never, never…

“But sometimes you just don’t have a choice, do you?” Rajanna’s voice sounded distant, and she couldn’t focus on him, as though he were speaking through hazy glass. “Sometimes, it’s pragmatic to work with the bad guy, at least for a while. It’s not every day you get a second chance.”

Those words came like a hammer blow, the air knocked straight out of Vimala’s lungs. She gazed at him for a few seconds, not quite understanding what she just heard. How much did Surya tell him? How is he saying all this?

It dawned on her with a measure of revulsion as she realised all he was doing was mirroring her own words back at her. Revulsion at her own self. She was a hypocrite for how she’d just felt. She’d kept trying to convince herself her position was different from Surya’s and Nandan’s. But was it, really? Driven to this state by sheer recklessness. There’s no one to blame but me, even though I’ve tried to pin it on everybody else. And now I’m being given an out. My second chance.

Her mind went to the faces of Sundar and Kalpana. I can’t face them any other way.

She composed herself silently, swallowing as she raised her eyes to his.

“What’s the job?”

*

Sundar stepped out of the car, absently pushing the door shut as he jogged across the parking lot and towards the entrance. An ambulance stood across from the main doorway of the building, the door closed shut. He knew they wouldn’t be in there, but he had to check. He peered inside through the small back windows. Empty. Exhaling deeply, he hastened inside the building.

The woman at the reception desk pointed him in the direction of the stairs. Room 101, first floor. The door was right beside the head of the stairs, but he didn’t go inside immediately. Sundar saw her through the long glass window set into the door, hunched over a woman prone on a hospital bed.

Sandhya was holding her mother’s hand, leaning in exhaustion against the chair handrests. Her hair was a mess, her clothes wrinkled — she looked bedraggled. A lump formed in Sundar’s throat. His eyes shifted to Anita, the IV bag hanging from the pole. She seemed to be mumbling something unintelligibly, though he couldn’t tell if she was actually saying anything. Her lined, worn face bore a striking resemblance to Sandhya. It was as though she’d aged in a matter of seconds, suddenly beleaguered by burdens no 20 year old girl would have. Sundar’s mouth grew dry, sandy, and he silently begged for none of what he was seeing to be real.

His hand rested on the metal plate on the door to push it open, but he hesitated. The sight in that room had shaken him deeply, left him feeling bare and disillusioned. It had been wrong, what he’d done—that he knew. But that it would have consequences like this… His stomach roiled. He’d been the cause of this. The blame wasn’t solely his, but what did that matter? He’d been complicit in this, and that’s all that mattered.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside, suppressing the trepidation rising in him. Sandhya’s head snapped around to look at him, and his breath caught in his throat. She had stitches on her cheek, her chin, her eyes were ringed darkly with exhaustion and sleeplessness. The knot in his gut tightened.

Anita seemed to be stirring, eyes fluttering open as though she were emerging from a stupor. Sandhya’s eyes widened, and she gently slipped her hand out of her mother’s, bending forward to whisper softly in her ear. She smoothed Anita’s forehead, speaking reassuringly in hushed tones. Her mother’s eyes were still open a crack, and Sundar felt she was looking at him, a million bitter thoughts that showed themselves in just one weary gaze.

Sandhya quickly stood and padded toward him, putting on her slippers as she took him by the arm and pulled the door open. They went to one side so Anita wouldn’t see them through the window.

“How is she?” Sundar asked.

“She’s…fine, resting” Sandhya said, her eyes meeting his for only a moment before moving away. “The doctors say she’ll get better with time. But now she remembers everything.”

“You mean the accident?”

“Yeah. I don’t know why it happened. No one knows what triggered it. The doctors have their theories, but nobody’s convinced.”

Sundar paused, trying to process the damage to her beautiful face, the fatigue that clung to it like a damp veil. Even now she was beautiful, he wanted to kiss her, and he hated himself for feeling that way.

“What happened, Sandhya?” he said. “How did this happen to your face?”

Sandhya took a shaky breath. She felt like she was 16 again. The hospital, the panic attack, the utter and complete helplessness in the face of something she had absolutely no control over. There was only Sundar.

She moved to hug, to hold him close to herself, but he moved back a step, stopping her arms.

“Not here, Sandhya, we’re in public,” he whispered. He nodded to the exit. “Let’s go outside for a bit.”

The sun felt good on her face after so long in the suffocating confines of the hospital. She chewed slowly on the kaati roll Sundar had bought her at the hospital café. They’d walked all the way to his car in the lot.

“So,” he said, leaning against the vehicle, “what happened? Take your time, I don’t want to rush you.”

Sandhya smiled cynically, looking away as she took another bite of food.

“Why do you even want to know?” she said.

Sundar frowned. “What are you talking about? Your mother’s in the hospital and you have stitches all over your face. Why wouldn’t I want to know?”

“Because clearly what we have isn’t as important to you as saving your own ass in front of people. You’re just asking me this because you want to know if you’ve been implicated in any of this.”

“Sandhya, that’s not what I’m doing. Please, don’t say things like that.”

She rounded on him like a wildcat.“Then why didn’t you hug me in there? So what if we were in public? How long are you going to keep me a secret?”

Sundar stared at her, dumbstruck. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Sandhya, I’m a married man. I have a wife and a child. You’re my student, and my half my age, no less. How could I possibly make this affair public? It would ruin everything in my life.”

“An affair? That’s all this is? Just some fucking fling you decided to have because you were bored sick of your wife?”

“Do not speak about my wife that way!” he said, seething. Sandhya stepped back in sudden fright at his outburst.

“You forced me into this, don’t you remember? By extorting me? I don’t know where you thought this relationship was going, Sandhya, but I certainly will not legitimise it. We both enjoyed it, and we both had fun, and that was it. But that doesn’t change the fact that I love my wife and always will love her, and I feel incredibly shitty having done what I did to her.”

Sandhya’s lips were quivering, and she looked at him in disbelief, a helpless child. Her eyes were glistening with tears, and her voice came out hoarse and barely audible.

“Sundar…what are you saying? What are you saying?”

It broke Sundar’s heart to see her like that, it tore him up from within. Why am I saying these things to her? Why am I being so cruel? What is wrong with me?

He swallowed, balled his fists, but it didn’t stop the tears from flowing down his face. He had to force himself to be composed, to speak so his voice didn’t break.

“Sandhya. I was going to tell you this later after I heard your mother was in the hospital. But I don’t think I can bring myself to say this if I don’t say it now. We can’t be together anymore, Sandhya. I’m sorry it had to be this way. But my family means too much to me, and it’s only going to destroy your life if we keep this up. I’m so sorry it had to end like this. I’m…I’m just…sorry.”

As he’d spoken, her expression had changed, morphing before him from hurt to utter devastation. She stared desolately at him, the roll slipping from her hand, falling to the ground in a mess. Sandhya didn’t utter a word, she just pushed her hands against the sides of her head, clasping her hair as she dropped to the ground in front of him. Sundar could hear her panicked breathing coming in gasps. His eyes misty with tears, barely able to see, he turned away from her and got inside his car.

He drove out of the parking lot, leaving her there all alone, cradling herself on the hard concrete floor.

*

“You’re coming home? Now?”

Vimala paced around the living room, biting her lip.

“Yeah, are you busy or something?” said the voice over the phone.

“No, it’s not that, it’s just…” Vimala paused a moment, silently cursing. “The house is in a real mess right now. Both Sundar and I have been really swamped these past few weeks, and Kalpana’s exams are coming up, too.”

“Let me help you clean up, then,” the voice said. There was a pause, the voice softened. “Come on, Vimala, we’ve barely seen each other in months. And how often do I get time off duty like this?”

Vimala hesitated for few seconds, then sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ve missed you. Come over, I’ll get some tea ready.”

“Tea? Jesus, Vimala, I’m not diabetic just yet.”

Vimala snickered. “I think I have rosé lying around here somewhere.”

“Yeah. Better. I mean, it’s still a little lame, but I’ll take it. See you in half an hour.”

Vimala had dusted off the bottle of wine and picked two wine glasses off a shelf, bringing them to the sink. She couldn’t remember the last time she and Sundar had had a drink together, just the two of them. It’s not as though they lacked for time. Or opportunity. The water gushed into the glasses, and she found herself staring at the way it flowed along one side and fell in frothing waves from the other. Then she shut off the tap.

He never seemed interested. Perhaps she should have asked him. She couldn’t read his mind, after all. For all she knew, he was thinking the same thing about her. It would hilariously stupid if that’s what was happening. Vimala wiped the wine glasses with a cloth. She decided she was going to ask him that night. In that moment she had a thought that deeply unsettled her. Am I actually afraid of what my own husband’s going to say to that?

The bell rang as she set the glasses down, and Vimala opened it.

“Hi!” Poorna said, almost falling into Vimala’s arms as she hugged her. “Oh my god, it’s been too long, Vimala.”

They went over to living room, and Poorna dropped her purse on a sofa.

“So how’ve you been?” she said. “How’s work going, man? I want to know everything that’s happening with you.” She stretched, and for a brief moment Vimala found herself vaguely transfixed on Poorna’s lithe, athletic figure.

“Oh,” Vimala said, going blank for a brief moment, “uh, well, it’s not exactly been the best past few weeks, to be honest.” Her lips stretched in a wan smile.

Poorna frowned. “Hey, what happened? Is everything okay?”

Vimala nodded towards the kitchen. “How about we pop open that wine bottle you were talking about?”

Vimala was holding the wine glass by the stem, swirling it absently.

“Why would they do that?” Poorna said, folding one leg under her thigh as she sat forward on the sofa.

She shrugged. “I mean, I guess it makes sense. The serial was losing ratings really fast. People were scrambling to do everything they could to salvage it, but I think after a while they all just kind of threw their hands up and said, ‘fuck it’.”

“And fire you?” Poorna said in disbelief. “Vimala, that’s just insane.”

“Well, I was the lead writer, after all,” she said. “I was responsible for the whole thing, at least in part.”

“Oh, come on, who made the show so popular in the first place?” her friend said.

“Me, but—“

“Exactly! They couldn’t give you a second chance? What assholes!”

Vimala shook her head, sighing. “Well, that’s how they roll. Besides, we’d been having creative differences for years. I think they finally decided I wasn’t worth the effort.”

Poorna clicked her tongue disappointedly. “So what are you doing now? Have you been looking around?”

“Yeah, of course,” Vimala said, not meeting her eye. “All the time. I’ve applied to a bunch of studios, big and small ones. I haven’t stopped writing, of course—I’d never do that—and I’m hoping maybe one of my scripts might get picked up. But for now…yeah, still looking.” She nodded, forcing a smile.

“Ohh, Vimala…” Poorna said with a sympathetic look. She set her glass down, opened her arms. “Come here, you need a hug.”

Poorna wrapped her arms around Vimala as she chuckled dryly.

They separated, and Vimala studied Poorna for a few moments as the woman took another sip of wine.

“How’s the life of crime-fighting treating you, Inspector?” she said with smile.

Poorna snorted. “Well enough, I suppose. The bloody DCP’s moved like a third of my team into narcotics. He doesn’t even listen, Vimala. Look, I get it, we’re having drug problems, and yeah, I guess they need more men to handle it. But that doesn’t mean you bleed the other divisions dry. Most drug dealers are small-timers who don’t know the first thing about covering their tracks. You should see them in their shithole apartments, it’s really fucking pathetic. You don’t need guys with much experience to handle that surface-level stuff.”

“Wait, which division are you the head of again?” Vimala said.

“Organised crime. Sand mafia, land mafia. All those guys.”

Vimala’s stomach shrank to the size of a pea. “Land mafia?”

“Yeah,” Poorna said, sipping some wine. She shook her head. “Those guys are insane, Vimala. A real nasty business.”

Vimala gripped the stem of her glass so tightly she was sure it would break. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t really tell you specifics, of course, but you know how the sand mafia control the supply of sand we use to make cement? They have a chokehold on the construction business. They’re usually working with construction companies and local politicians. But the land mafia are the ones acquiring the land, and they make deals with people way higher up the ladder. You’d never again set foot in a mall if you knew what it took to get it built.”

Vimala was silent for a time, not quite meeting her eyes, not quite looking away.

“Damn,” she whispered. “And you go after these guys?”

“It’s nearly impossible to topple a mafia don,” Poorna said, leaning back in the sofa, “but for what it’s worth, yeah. Those are the guys I go after.” She smiled. “Why? Someone in the mafia you can tell me about?”

Vimala’s gaze was distant as she spoke, but snapped back to the present. Swallowed. She turned to Poorna with a dry smile.

“Me? Of course. I’ll let you know when they come knocking at my door.”

The Generation Gap: Episode 11

Vimala watched the floor numbers change on the lift display. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. The lift slowed, halted with a slight lurch. But when the doors opened, she didn’t want to get out. She felt leaden, her feet refusing the part of her that knew stalling would merely prolong the misery. As if she’d stop being miserable once this was over. It would be like ripping the band-aid out, only to discover the wound underneath had festered and become gangrenous. She felt like she was being cornered, a wild animal with her back against the wall, out of options.

Even as her feet struck the old, tiled floors of the corridor, she felt sickness in her stomach, waves of nausea rolling through her gut, threatening to force what little breakfast she’d had back up. If there was one thing she despised more than anything else, it was not being in control of her own life.

Romesh would agree. If nothing else, he’d agree to that.A fleeting smile came to her lips, then disappeared again. There had been no mirth in it, only cynical amusement at her own self. She was beyond self-doubt at this point, left with only a sense of detachment as though she were someone else watching a sad movie playing before her eyes.

Her eyes glanced up for a moment, and she felt a lurch in her chest. There it was, the signboard that hung over the small entrance on the other end of the row of offices. Dion Productions. The board seemed to be mocking her, smirking in pitying disdain. She balled her fists, wishing more than anything that she could tear down that signboard, send a hammer flying through those hateful glass doors. They were only an illusion of transparency, they were deceit and lies.

I’m not here for that. I’m not here for that. Just…stop.

She stopped in front of the entrance. She thought she could see Surya at his table, or his shoulder at least. Nandan was nowhere in sight. Perhaps that was a good thing. She would have liked to see him in pain, to see him struggling, and Vimala didn’t want to countenance the cruelty she might be capable of. She slipped her phone out of her purse, looked at it. 7 missed calls from Prakash. The phone bounced uncertainly in her hand a few moments. Just then she saw Surya turn, and their eyes met. Too late. She dropped the phone back in and pushed the door to the office.

“Vimala,” Surya said, forcing his features into what she interpreted as a smile. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I wasn’t expecting me either,” she said, moving to one of the sofas. “And yet here I am. Come, sit. We need to talk.”

Surya dropped his head, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

“Vimala, I think you know as well as I do I’m in no position to repay—“

“I met with Rajanna.”

That made him look up, sit straight. “What did you do?”

“We met and spoke about…many things,” Vimala said, trying her best to conceal her own self-loathing. “You in particular.”

“Me?”

“Dion.”

“What did he…what did you guys talk about?”

She gestured toward the sofa across from her, and this time Surya didn’t hesitate coming forward. He sat on the edge of the seat, leaning forward. She could practically taste his anxiety, and wasn’t sure if she didn’t feel sorry for him.

Then she remembered the cheque she’d signed on, their warm handshake as he’d accepted it, and the camera exploding 10 feet in front of her. No, sympathy was the last thing she would give him.

“Where’s Nandan?” Vimala said.

“He’s just gone to the—“

It was in that moment that Nandan shuffled into the room and saw Vimala. His eyes widened.

“The toilet,” Surya finished quietly.

“Vimala?” Nandan said. “What are you doing here?”

Surya rose, pulled up his desk chair next to the sofa. “Nandan, sit. There’s some things we need to discuss.” His features seemed to be stretched tightly, and though Nandan cast a questioning look his way, they exchanged nothing.

The younger man moved to the desk chair, carefully grasping the handles and lowered himself down, wincing as he did.

“How’s the recovery coming along?” Vimala said.

“It wasn’t a compound fracture, thank goodness,” he said, his voice sounding strained. “I’m not having breathing issues. It’s just bloody painful, that’s all.” He snorted.

He looked up at her. “So what are you here for?”

His eyes betrayed exhaustion, they were ringed with dark circles and they seemed to beg for respite. Vimala swallowed, trying to ignore the pitiful visage of a man who just couldn’t take it any longer.

“She spoke to Rajanna,” Surya said.

Nandan who’d had his eyes fixed on her now shifted his gaze away, biting his lip. He leaned back in his chair. “And?” he said after some time.

“How bad is your debt exactly?” Vimala said.

“What?” Surya said, frowning.

“Pretty simple question. How much money do you guys owe him?”

“What does it matter to you?” he said, but he couldn’t even convince himself with that question.

“Are you serious?” She looked at him incredulously.

Surya sighed, closing his eyes. “You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s…we’re pretty deep, Vimala. Really deep. Rajanna’s got us by the balls, there’s literally nothing we can do.”

“How did it even get to this?” Vimala said. “You’ve produced what, 4 shows by now? Whose money were you running on?”

“Look, it was never supposed to go this far. But when were starting our third show, there was some fucking union strike and we had to jack up people’s salaries. I didn’t tell the showrunners because I knew it would scare them off. It was the biggest deal we’d ever landed—the actors were stars and the story was great and…and we thought it would go viral or something. We were hoping, at least. Except it bombed like crazy, and we didn’t even make our money back.

“We started defaulting on our loans, and the banks eventually stopped lending. We were so fucking desperate, I had no clue what we were going to do. By the fourth show, we were scraping the bottom of the barrel, the sides, every which way we could find something to work with. I mean, what else could we do? Get a job? Neither of has a degree. This is the only thing we know how to do.”

“A friend introduced us to Rajanna,” Nandan said. “We hated the very thought of asking him for money. Felt like I was in a movie, so completely out of options that we had to go to a fucking loan shark. Worst decision we ever took.” He bent forward to rest his elbows on his knees but stopped halfway, letting out a grunt of pain. Surya leapt up, gently pulling Nandan back against the backrest as he grimaced, taking a deep, shaky breath.

Vimala looked on silence.

Worst decision you ever took, yet you had no choice. I understand now.

Except I did have a choice, didn’t I? And so do you, as hard as it seems to make.

“You have to understand, Vimala,” Surya said, the remorse carved deep into his features, “we’re so, so sorry for what happened to you. I swear it on my life, if I thought I had a better option I’d have taken it. I should never have done it, I know that now. But I…I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Vimala’s tone softened. “Why are you still doing this, anyway?”

“I told you, we can’t get jobs—“

“No, I mean this. All this shit, trying to pay back your loans and failing and getting beaten up and risking losing all your contacts. Look at your faces, you haven’t slept in days. What’s the point of living like that?”

Surya shook his head. “I don’t understand, what other choice do we have?”

Vimala didn’t speak for several seconds. She didn’t know how to say it without sounding…horrible. But that was just an illusion.

You’re in this for nobody but yourself. You don’t care about them. At least cast off false pretenses and be real for a moment.

“I think you already know what I’m talking about.”

Both of them stared back at her in incomprehension, trying to understand what she was implying. Then something in Nandan’s expression changed.

“Are you—wait, did he actually tell you about that?” he said.

“About what?” Surya asked, still confused.

“Why else would he bulldoze our shooting set?” Vimala said. “If all he wanted was his money back, he’d have sent some guy to your houses, broken a few bones. He wants ownership of Dion Studios. He’s offering to waive every last rupee you owe him if you give him control. You’re still going to be running the studio, only this time with some real financial backing.”

Surya’s eyebrows were raised as he leaned back in his chair, locking his hands around his head.

“Wow,” he muttered to himself. “Wow, that’s just…” He shook his head in disbelief, cracking a shocked smile. He turned to Nandan.

“I don’t know if I should be pissed off or amazed at this point,” he said in disbelief, then swung his gaze back to Vimala. “Did he actually send you here to negotiate a deal with us? This just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?”

“This isn’t a negotiation—“

“Of course it’s not, Vimala! It’s only called a negotiation when both people want something from each other. What we want to is get as far away as fucking possible from that guy. Do you get that now? Do you understand why, despite multiple attempts by him to make an offer, we’ve kept refusing? We don’t want a part in his criminal dealings, Vimala. Because the day we give up control to that rat-fucker is the day we become another front for his mob and the money-laundering and murder and all the other illegal shit they do. We’ll be trapped because he sure as hell won’t be charitable enough to let us retire early, and God knows how far he’ll take it knowing he has a knife at our throats.”

Vimala raised a hand to calm him a little so she could speak.

“Surya, he isn’t going to do that to you or the studio,” she said. “That’s not how he operates. With his support you’ll be able to get actual, reliable funding for—”

“I know the damn pitch, Vimala,” he said. “You think this is the first time we’re hearing about this? And how would you know how he operates, Vimala? Have you worked with land mafia before? Because this is going to be the rest of your life if you go down that road. It was a mistake that Nandan and I did, but I’m going to fix that now. I’d rather go insolvent than be part of some criminal enterprise.”

“Listen to me, Surya!” Vimala said, gritting her teeth in an effort to not scream. Surya’s anger seemed to dissolve as he saw the look in her eyes. “You guys are so far up the shit creek you couldn’t possibly think you still have the luxury of choice. There’s no question of insolvency here, he isn’t the bank. Soon enough he will snap, and the day he does you’ll really regret saying no to him.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” Surya said cautiously.

“I’m not representing him to be able to make threats,” she said, “those are just the facts. You’re throwing away your lives for some bullshit moral agenda you have no right over. Did you fucking blink when I signed that contract and paid you 1.3 lakhs, all while hiding the fact you were in debt to the mafia? No, because that was convenient and you knew I couldn’t do anything beyond filing an FIR that would never be read.”

Nandan struggled to sit forward, frowning with concern. “Vimala, that was never our intention when we asked you for money. We were planning to reimburse the whole amount once the show was picked up and got sponsors.”

“The terms of your contract stated otherwise.”

“Terms laid out by Rajanna’s men. He wouldn’t let us make business deals without confirming with one of his accountants first. Don’t you see? That’s the kind of restrictions we’ll be dealing with under that guy. We could never coexist.”

Vimala felt like she was being deflated slowly, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She bit down hard, she couldn’t afford to let them go. All this time she’d made it about herself. But of course they wouldn’t care, not when they were in a worse position than she was. But as long as they held onto the false hope that they could pay off their loans, staying in debt would always sound like the better option. An option that wouldn’t last them very long.

“Look, guys,” she started afresh, “I get that he’s a criminal. But he isn’t some small-time hitman or a street gangster. It may be illegal, but he’s still running a business. For just one moment, stop thinking of all the other things he does. Rajanna is a businessman. You’re a business.”

“You can stop patronising us, Vimala,” Surya said.

“My point is,” she continued, ignoring him, “Rajanna has way more cash than he knows what to do with. You’d know that better than I. He can’t afford to keep it all with him. Dion is just one of so many legal businesses he wants to dip his feet in. If all he wanted was more money laundering—just think about that for a second. They’re the land mafia. You think this hole in the wall you’ve rented would make a difference?”

They were silent. Surya’s stare was fixed upon the coffee table, and Nandan’s eyes flitted between Vimala and the sofa she was sitting on. She could feel that her words were chipping away at the wall they’d built around themselves. It was still anything but certain, but at least she wasn’t making things worse.

“If he has any sense at all—and you can’t become a mafia don if you’re fickle—he’ll want to buy this place and pour more money into it. He’ll give you plenty of funding, and you guys know how to put a crew together. Your debts will be cleared. All of it. That’s the price he’s buying the studio for, and I think calling it generous is an understatement.”

“You can’t put a price on freedom, Vimala,” Nandan said in feeble protest. He didn’t meet her eyes.

“Nandan, listen to yourself,” she scoffed. “Stop acting like Braveheart. You’re not crusaders against a moral injustice. I don’t know if you came by bad times because of shit luck or shit management, but whatever it is, the world doesn’t care.”

“Yes,” Surya said, his tone sharp with bitterness, “if there’s one thing we’ve managed to figure out, it’s that.”

“You can keep convincing yourselves you’re the victims here but for once you’re being given a second chance. Not everyone gets that.”

Surya smiled wanly, looked up at her. “This is your idea of a second chance?”

It was all she could do not to throttle him, in a spout of fury that almost showed in her expression.

“This is by far the best second chance I’ve seen anyone get in their lives,” she said, trying not to let the frustration sour her tone. “He’s offering you so much money to get anything started, literally anything. And once the studio’s in the black, you’ll never have to see another rupee of his black money again. You can forget it ever existed, and you’ll get all you ever wanted—a successful studio.”

Surya studied her silently, his dour expression turning slightly curious.

“What’s in this for you?” he said. “You’re clearly very…proactive about getting us to sell to him. What are you getting out of this?”

She glared at him in mild revulsion. “My money back.”

“You’re doing all this for money that already belonged to you?”

“Money that’s not in my account. I just want to distance myself from all…this. It was a bad idea from the beginning.”

“How convenient,” Surya said, his expression darkening.

“My situation is very different from yours, Surya,” Vimala said, unflinching. “I didn’t dig my own grave and then refuse to be helped out of it.”

“I think you should leave, Vimala.”

Vimala blinked, speechless in disbelief for a moment. “What did you say?”

Surya leaned forward in his seat, eyes very acutely focussed on her. “I said, I need you to get out of my office. Please get up and leave. This conversation is over.”

He stood up, then helped Nandan get on his feet. The younger man avoided eye contact with her, once perhaps in a sympathetic glance, but nothing more. As Surya turned toward his desk, he stopped, spun to look at Vimala still sitting.

“The door’s over there,” he said, gesturing to the entrance.

Trying to mask her shock, her indignation at what just happened, she hastily gathered her purse and rose, striding stiffly out of the office. The soles of her shoes clacked noisily against the tiled flooring of the complex, echoing faintly around the eerily empty top floor. Vimala stopped in front of the lift, pressing the button once, staring impatiently at the ugly grey doors. And then she burst into tears.

The Generation Gap: Episode 10

Sundar fished the car keys out of his pocket, pressing the button to unlock it. He opened the back door behind the driver’s seat, dropping his bag on the seat. He slid in behind the steering wheel, inserted the car key into the ignition slot. And he just sat there.

He watched from his rearview mirror as students spilled out of doorways like vomitoriums, the sound of their ceaseless chatter faintly audible even here. He turned on the AC and looked straight ahead at an empty university building, his eyes stopping to examine every window and every door. As if he expected to see someone there, catch them before they realised they were being watched.

His hands had wound tightly around the steering wheel without him realising it, and his fingers were turning red as he released his grip.

What am I doing?

It was such a simple question, the answer in his line of sight, almost within reach. Almost. The answer was easy, of course. Then why was it so hard for him to think it? To acknowledge it?

He wasn’t in denial. At least he thought he wasn’t. Or is that what people in denial tell themselves?

Vimala had told him to come home soon today. It had been a while since all of them had sat at the table and had a nice, normal dinner. Light conversation, the usual ‘what did you do today’ or ‘how were classes’ or ‘how many times have you fucked your student so far’.

”What?”

”How many times have you fucked your student so far?”

”I…I don’t…”

”It’s a simple question. Can’t be that hard. So tell me, Sundar, how many times?

He swallowed, and Vimala smiled. She caught that. Of course she did, she caught everything he did. Nothing got past her.

Except…Sandhya.

He felt himself suffocating, as if an invisble force was deflating his lungs, constricting his throat so breathing became impossible. Sweat beaded his forehead. It felt as though his own car were closing in around him in an attempt to crush him, break his bones, shatter his ribs, compress him all the way down to nothing. And he deserved it.

I have to end this. How many times have I told myself that already? Please, you have to say no. At least this time. You can’t…this can’t keep happening.

The AC vents weren’t blowing air at him anymore. They were spewing, vomiting, spitting into his face, the cold air digging like claws into his skin, the muscle bare and exposed.

I have to say no. He balled his hands into tight fists.

The door opened to his left, startling him. Sandhya sat inside, tossing her bag into the back seat. She pulled a hair tie from her wrist, bunched up her long, wavy hair in her left hand as she looped the elastic band around it. Her back was straight, and his eyes for the briefest of moments lingered on the shape of her torso. Slim waist, expanding to an ample bust. Her top was thin, hugged her body. Something stirred in him, dredging up the sediments of desire he’d thought—no, desperately hoped—had settled to the bottom, and everything was murky again. His thoughts had become weak, his resolve from only a few seconds ago made brittle by this…by whatever he was feeling inside of him. The smallest nudge and it would all come crumbling down.

Sandhya turned to him, smiled sweetly.

“Hi,” she said.

---

Kalpana’s pen scrawled over paper, the words coming in a steady, perfunctory flow that she barely even noticed. She’d studied something—she knew that much—but it seemed to be nothing she could actively reflect on. The questions were on one sheet of paper. The answers went onto the other.

She couldn’t say when her thoughts had begun drifting away from her books, as though she were sitting on a slippery, naked slope with nowhere to hold on to. But by the time she did realise she was thinking about him, her pen had stopped moving.

Him? Who?

You’re trying too hard. You can’t avoid it, Kalpana. You can’t not think about this.

About what…?

Kalpana couldn’t stop thinking about what Gaurav had said to her. She’d been filled with this boiling rage when he’d spoken that way about Divya. She wanted to scream at him so loud his eardrums burst. How could he think that about her? Divya was not…that. She wasn’t that sort of girl, and besides, she was still dating Bharath. She’d never do that to anyone, least of all Kalpana.

But she’s so much prettier.

Kalpana knew how absurd that sounded. She wasn’t jealous of Divya, not about anything. And if all Gaurav wanted was arm candy, he’d have hit on Surabhi or Lakshmi.

But he hadn’t hit on Divya. She’d hit on him. No, that’s just what he thinks, and he’s wrong. He’s just stupid and has a huge ego, just like every other guy. That’s all this is.

Kalpana tried to think back to their whole conversation at the restaurant. What had Divya said? She supposed that in a different context, it could be construed as flirting. Maybe. But Divya was just normally friendly like that, and guys had taken that as a signal in the past. So that’s what it was. It had to be.

Her thoughts suddenly zeroed in on just one thing Gaurav had said.

”She’s been having trouble with her boyfriend lately, hasn’t she?

“Kalpana!” a voice called from the hall outside her room, breaking her stream of thought like glass. “Let’s have dinner. Set the table, will you?”

Sundar entered the apartment just as Kalpana was setting down the steaming pot of palak paneer.

“Hi Daddy,” she said before heading back into the kitchen. He saw that she’d gone inside, didn’t reply as he kicked his shoes off and went straight to the bedroom. By the time he’d changed and washed his face, the table had been laid. Sundar felt a knot tighten in his chest as he studied the dinner preparations, the curry and the hot box filled with chapatis and a bowl heaped with bajjis. He could still hear Vimala in the kitchen and hoped she wasn’t making anything else. He didn’t know if he could bear to look at her, his own mouth tasted so foul.

She came out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a cloth, paused when she saw him. There was a tightness to her smile.

“Hi,” she said quietly. She took a few steps forward, placing the towel on a chair.

“Well?” she said, her hands spreading as if to reveal the table. “What do you think?”

Sundar smiled at her, went to her and took her in his arms. His hands clasped a rigid, unwelcoming body, and though she hugged him back, she did not loosen. They tried kissing but it was a listless contact, just two lips touching.

Sundar swallowed as he released her, hurrying to her chair and pulling it out for her to sit. He took the water jug, filling the glasses. Kalpana came out of the kitchen, sitting down as he served them both the curry and chapati, Vimala first. She covered her face with a hand, hiding a smile of mild disdain.

As took the first bite of bite food, she stopped chewing. She glanced at the pot of palak paneer.

“Whoa,” Kalpana said, head snapping back. “That’s really salty. Mummy, how much did you even put?”

“Yeah,” Sundar said, lips pursing as he tasted the curry. “This is extremely salty, Vim. Too salty to even fix, I think.”

“What?” Vimala said, looking at them. She could taste the salt on her tongue, but tried some more curry again just to be sure. She grimaced at the taste, and her eyes cast about in confusion looking like she was on the brink of distress. “I don’t…I don’t understand. I just added 3 spoons, I’m sure of it. I could have sworn I had. It’s…Sundar, honestly, I don’t know how—“

“Hey, Vimala, relax,” he said, looking extremely unsettled. “Vim, you just added a bunch of salt without realising, it happens. Don’t get so worked up. There are a million restaurants open right now, I can just go and pack us something.”

“But that’s not the point, dammit!” she said, slamming her hands on the table. “I can’t even remember how much salt I put in the fucking food and it’s inedible now. Look how much is getting wasted because of me!” She stared at the pot for several seconds, and neither Kalpana nor Sundar dared speak.

“I can’t do anything right.” She buried her head in her hand, unable to stifle the sobbing.

“Everything I touch turns to shit,” she said, her voice hoarse amid the sobs. “Oh god. Oh my god.”

The taste of salt in her mouth turned into a foul bitterness. Blind with tears, she felt someone’s hand on her arm and buried her face against them. And just wept.

---

The bell rang.

“Anita!” a voice called from outside.

The bell rang again. And again.

“Anita, I need to talk to you!”

Anita knew Kanaka’s voice, but she’d never heard her sound like this. She hurried from her room in alarm, wondering what on earth could have Kanaka so agitated.

“Coming, Kanaka!” she said. “I’m coming, wait.”

She opened the door and her friend rushed, almost pushing her to one side.

“Kanaka, what’s the matter with you?” Anita said, looking almost afraid.

“Remember I told you I’d seen your daughter with another man?” Kanaka said, her eyes scarily wide. “You told me I must have seen something else, I was mistaken.”

“Kanaka,” Anita snapped, “I swear to god, I will never so much as look at your face if you speak about my daughter like that ever again!”

“What about after you see this?” Kanaka said, holding out her phone.

“What is this nonsense?” Anita said, glaring at her friend first, then down at the phone.

She saw pictures. Kanaka swiped on her phone screen, there were more. Anita swallowed, her mind unable to clearly process what she was seeing. Some of the photos were a bit shaky, but it didn’t matter. It was unmistakeable. Pictures of Sandhya with another man. She didn’t recognise him from the photos. But there were so many it was practically a video. The last photo was of them entering the house together.

“Kanaka,” Anita said darkly. “What is this?”

“This is proof, Anita. You didn’t believe me last time, right? Now you can’t deny it. She can’t deny it. Don’t you see what that girl has been doing behind your back all this time? Is this what you want people to hear about when they look at you? And in this neighbourhood? She’s your daughter, Anita, but these freedoms you’ve given her she’s taken too freely. When children see unmarried girls like her roaming with strange men, how will we explain it to them? Please, Anu. At least now you have to say something.”

Anita’s eyes were wide, glassy. They weren’t focussed, and though the slow shadow of comprehension came over them like a shroud, she took several moments to speak, to break from her stupor.

“Say something? Say something. What do you expect me to say, Kanaka?” She looked up at the woman. “Huh? Tell me. What do you expect me to say? Tell me!”

Kanaka appeared momentarily at a loss for words. “Anita, she’s your daughter. How can I tell you what to say to her?”

“And yet,” Anita said, her words dripping with venom, “you come in here, into my home and tell me things about my daughter that are none of your goddamn business?”

Her head was reeling, she felt breathless. Hot tears filled her eyes, and she closed them but that only made it worse. The photos kept playing in her head like a perverse slideshow, and she was overwhelmed by the terrible emotions they conjured.

“It’s the neighbourhood’s responsibility, Anita,” Kanaka said, a high-pitched edge to her voice, bordering on fear. It grated Anita’s ears. “It’s for your own good that I’m telling you all this, don’t you understand?”

What is this child I’ve given birth to? Who is this girl? What sin have I committed that my own daughter turn out this way? Oh, Janna, what did we do wrong?

The door to Sandhya’s room opened and she stepped out, pulling her headphones off.

“Ma, who was that idiot ringing the doorbell so much?” she said. “Did you—“

She stopped when she saw the two of them. Kanaka snapped up to look at her, eyes widening in shock.

“What are you doing here—?” she began.

“Aunty?” Sandhya said, frowning slightly. Then her eyes went to Anita, the horrifying pallor consuming her mother’s face.

Sandhya’s heart lurched at the sight. “Ma, what’s wrong? What happened, Ma?” She stepped forward, but Anita noticed her and recoiled like an animal before naked flames.

Janna, this is what we’ve brought into the world. This girl we called our daughter.

“Ma!” Sandhya was appalled at her mother’s reaction, and for a moment she stood there, shocked and uncertain. She turned to Kanaka. “What happened to her? What did you do?”

Kanaka was on the verge of tears, stepping back.

“Who is that man, you filthy…” Anita couldn’t bring herself to say the word, shutting her eyes tightly. She cried out in frustration, in despair.

I can’t do it, Janna. I can’t face her, can’t even look my own daughter in the eye.

“Ma, what are you saying?” Sandhya said, but a pit of pure dread had taken hold of her gut, rendering her incapable of any more pretenses. All her confidence, all the brashness with which she’d cast aside her scruples — all of that drained from her like sand from an hourglass when she saw the despair in her mother’s eyes.

Anita reached for the table, and Sandhya ducked just in time to avoid a steel glass flying past her head.

“How could you?” Anita screamed. “How could you do this to me? To your father? You’ve ruined us!” She flung a glass bowl at Sandhya, shattering against the wall behind her and showering her with shards of glass.

“Ma! Ma, please stop! Please!”

Anita threw a steel plate, and this Sandhya couldn’t avoid. It struck her mouth and she shrieked, tumbling onto the glass-strewn floor.

“Anita!” Kanaka said, grabbing her arms and trying desperately to keep her from throwing anything else. “Anita, don’t!”

When she saw her daughter lying there on the floor, blood trickling from her mouth, Anita’s paroxysm fled her and she was left weakened, sick to the bone with herself or Sandhya or something—she didn’t know what to think. Couldn’t think.

She just saw her daughter lying there, and she saw the blood.

I’ve seen this before. This has happened. Blood. More than just blood, and I’ve seen it. Then why don’t I remember—

Visions filled her head like a lightning strike, there one brief moment, then gone again. They struck once more. And again. And again. The visions came quicker, more rapidly. Anita could see them now, didn’t recognise them at first. But now they were clearer.

Anita pressed her hands against her temples and shut her eyes as if to block out some horrible screaming, clutched her hair in fistfuls. The images wouldn’t cease torturing. Though she pulled out her hair, she didn’t feel it. There were only the images, now all merged to become one, terrifying painting of death. A death she’d forgotten, had been at the edge of her memory, but now she was staring directly at it. She saw it with her eyes, oh so clearly, even though she pressed her eyelids shut.

Sandhya rose when she heard her mother’s blood-curdling screams. If she was screaming her husband’s name, Sandhya couldn’t make it out amid the horrible wailing. She rose shakily, forced herself to look at Anita. Her mother was writhing on the floor, still crying out, whimpering. In the doorway Kanaka was screaming into a cellphone.

“Ma…” Sandhya called out, her speech unclear through swollen lips. She crawled over tiny shards of glass, hardly felt them cutting into her as she went to her mother’s side. Anita was lapsing into a fugue, mumbling incoherently. Sandhya gently placed her head on her lap, stroking her mother’s head, as she stared into nothingness.

The Generation Gap: Episode 9

“We shouldn’t be here, Vimala. We’re not…welcome.”

The fan whirred noisily overhead, but it made little difference in the small, boggy reception area. The man sitting at the desk in front of them gazed desultorily at something on his computer, eyes half-shut, the sound of mouse-clicks like nervous twitching.

“I’m not expecting to feel welcome, Prakash.” Vimala’s jaw was taut, and he could see how stiff her shoulders were. “And wherever my money’s gone, that’s where I should be.”

“Let’s take this outside.” Prakash said and stood, taking a step closer to the reception desk.

“We’re just going to be outside for a few minutes,” he said. “Get some air.” The receptionist nodded without so much as a glance away from his screen. The mouse clicks continued in an awful monotony that Vimala was glad to be rid of as she stepped outside.

The narrow balcony overlooked the small street down below, scooters puttering between hand-pushed carts heaped with fruits and flowers and peanuts. Vimala leaned against the railing, looking at the two-storey building across from her, another rundown business complex in severe need of a coat of paint.

“Can you be perfectly honest with me for a second?” he said, leaning to his side so he was looking right at her. “Do you seriously, honestly believe we’re going to get our money back from this guy? A gangster. Who literally trashed our set 3 days ago because he hadn’t been paid back. Really sounds like you’ve got it figured out.”

“Our money?” Vimala said. “When’s it ever been our money?”

Prakash regarded her for a moment, then stood straight, nodding as his hands clasped the railing.

“Okay,” he said, snorting. Vimala clenched her jaw, breathing deeply as she tried to stifle the urge to kick the parapet wall.

“Prakash,” she said, but he ignored her. She put a hand on his arm. “Prakash, I’m sorry. Okay? Sundar and I, we’re just managing to keep this household afloat and have a little to spare for comforts. But that’s it. That money I blew on this shoot was all saved up for Kalpana’s college, you know that. I know for sure she’s getting into some good university. Even her teachers feel that way. And universities are expensive as hell. How many loans could we possibly take to get her through 4 or 5 years after she passes out of school?”

She turned her face away, clasping and unclasping the railing. She was trying to say something. He wasn’t sure if he should ask her or just wait. Before he could say anything she made his choice for him.

“I don’t know where my life is going, Sun—Prakash,” she said, her voice quieter, brittle. “I’m 42, for god’s sake. And what do I have to show for it?” Her smile was wan, bitter. “I know I make a big deal out of keeping the quality of my work consistent, and I know what a pain I can be to work with. People hate me for it. I mean, people hated Stanley Kubrick too, but he’s still Stanley Kubrick, right? The shit he pulled meant something.”

Vimala turned so she faced him, and when she came closer he could almost feel the distress that lined her face.

“I sneer, I condescend, I act so superior to those guys just because I think I produce better work than them, but so the fuck what? We’re both still stuck writing for the same dead-end shows. Makes more sense to be like them, no? So much easier.”

Prakash held her eyes, unsettled by her…candour.

“What are you trying to get at, Vim?” he said carefully.

“At the fact that there’s nothing I’ve done in my life I’m proud of.”

Prakash’s eyes went wide.

“Not one single thing in all these years. I just pat myself on the back for remembering to care about my work sometimes, and that’s about the extent of my achievements. I was so fixated on these completely inane details that I missed everything else. I had one steady job and screwed even that up.”

She shook her head, and there was a suffocating helplessness that shrunk her face, stripped bare so it spread like a bruise, raw and throbbing. Like a wounded animal watching a figure approach it in the darkness, there was terror in her eyes.

“I cannot screw up again. I just cannot. Because it’s one thing to fuck up my life by wasting all these years on trivialities that led me nowhere. It’s something else entirely to send my child down the same path because of my mistakes.”

She paused, her voice softening to a whisper. “There’s nothing in my life I’ve regretted more than that damn cheque.”

Prakash didn’t know what to say to that. There were so many things he wanted to — that he understood how she felt, that he knew what it must be like — but he’d be lying if he said them. It was an appalling feeling of cluelessness, utterly empty of comprehension. Maybe this is sort of how she feels. Completely alone.

“That’s why I’m doing this, Prakash,” Vimala said, pulling him from his thoughts. “Not for me. I’ve been selfish enough all these years. I’m doing this for my daughter. And Sundar, too, though his life doesn’t depend on it.”

Prakash bit his lip, nodding more to himself than anyone else. He couldn’t understand the magnitude of Vimala’s feelings, but he could sense the tension in her vocal chords, taut as bowstrings. There was nothing he could do to comfort her, at least not right now. And yet, it didn’t feel as though he could stand being silent.

Before he could say something, the door behind them opened. The droopy-eyed receptionist leaned out the doorway, looked at the two of them indifferently.

“The boss is almost here,” he said. “He’ll be up in 2 minutes. He asked me to seat you in his office.”

He went inside without waiting for their reply, letting the door close behind him. Prakash stood facing the door for a moment, and he realised he could feel his heartbeat more acutely now. I never signed up for any of this.

As he made to open the door, Vimala spoke. “Prakash?”

“Yeah?” he said, turning around.

“Remember when you told me you’d been sending my script out to a bunch of production houses for them to consider?”

He nodded.

She was reluctant to speak, and the words came slowly as if forming them was difficult. “How many got back to you about that?”

He frowned. “Just the one. Dion Productions. Why?”

It was as the words left his mouth that he realised what he’d said. His heart sank as her eyes fell briefy to the floor, and she nodded. She reached for the door and went inside. Prakash stood there for a few moments, eyes on the empty doorway. Then he pushed the door open and followed her into the office.

The room was small, the size of a manager’s cabin in a mid-size bank branch. An old wooden table sat on one side, a swivel chair behind it, and two worn-looking cushioned chairs in front of it. Vimala and Prakash sat, trying to ignore the lack of ventilation in the room. Vimala glanced at the small clock on the wall to their left. 11:30. She ground her teeth. We were supposed to do this at 10. Fucking 10.

Her leg bounced compulsively as she stared at the swivel chair, hoping he’d somehow materialise there at that moment. But there was a part of her that was hoping he wouldn’t show up. Even as she sat straight in her chair, her countenance troubled but unwavering, she felt a sharp tug inside of her. It had kept her mind from a moment’s rest the past few days, and she was beginning seriously question the wisdom of coming here and speaking with a mafia don. How could she trust her own decisions after the last one? And if things went wrong now, the repercussions would be more than just a few missing digits from her bank accounts.

As if in answer to her mental torment, the door swung open behind her. She recognised the first man who entered, felt a violent surge of anger take over her nerves, so great that she had to tighten her fists painfully to remind herself of reality.

Kaanta. That’s his name.

There was a flash of recognition in the man’s face as he passed her by, but he remained inscrutable. Vimala turned to see the second man walking in. His broad face sported a neatly trimmed moustache, his hair slicked back with a thin layer of oil. Four thick bangles of gold and silver wrapped around both wrists and arms, his fingers studded with several rings. The whole room seemed to dissolve around him, as though nothing of significance existed there but his presence. Vimala found herself standing up impulsively, and Prakash followed suit.

They both shook hands with him, and he offered them a taut smile.

“Please, sit,” he said as he walked over to his own chair, smoothing down his immaculate, pressed shirt as he sat down. “Make yourselves comfortable.”

Kaanta moved to one side of the room, standing stiffly against the wall.

Once they’d settled down, Rajanna studied the two of them, his eyes searching them as if to look for blemishes, microscopic cracks in their smooth exterior. Vimala felt extremely conscious, her eyes failing to meet his. She could feel the hammering of her heart against her ribcage.

“You must be Vimala,” Rajanna said, acknowledging her, then turning to look at Prakash. “And you’re Prakash. You work together?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Prakash said, forcing the friendliest smile he could manage. “I’m—I was the the producer at Vimala’s old show. After she left, I’ve been helping her start something new.”

“Yes, with Dion Productions,” Rajanna said with what could only have been amusement. “As soon as I heard who you were with, I arranged immediately to meet you.”

“Is this where you normally conduct your business?” Vimala said, glancing unsubtlely around the room. Her gaze lingered on Kaanta for a moment before returning to Rajanna. She found it hard to swallow, and didn’t even realise how tightly her toes were curled around her slipper.

The don laughed aloud, a disingenuous smile crinkling the crow’s feet around his eyes.

“There’s nowhere I ‘normally’ conduct my business, to be honest,” he said. “I’ve branched out. Having something as conspicuous as a headquarters would be bad form in my line of work.”

“What about destroying the property of someone who’s not in debt to you?” Vimala said.

Kaanta was jolted upright by what she said, his eyes wide in shock as he looked at her, then turned to his boss. Rajanna’s eyebrows were raised, but he seemed unperturbed.

“Oh, but you were,” he said, sounding surprised at her ignorance. “Well, to be accurate, once you transferred the money to the production house, you gave up all control over it. And Dion Productions was definitely in debt to me.”

It was a struggle for Vimala to breathe. She bit down on her cheek, just stopping before she drew blood.

“I just…want my money back,” she said.

“Yeah, I know,” Rajanna said, giving her a mocking look of helplessness. “But it wasn’t your money when you put your signature on that sheet of paper. It isn’t even mine, so I’m not the person you should even be talking to.”

He paused, his eyes, dipping to the table. “I think this conversation’s over. Kaanta, just see them outside, will you? And tell that fellow outside to come in here.”

Kaanta nodded, moving toward them. Prakash stood immediately, glancing once more at Rajanna before he turned to the door. As the thug went to get her up, Vimala’s eyes lost focus for a brief second.

“No,” she said.

Rajanna leaned forward, frowning. “What did you say?”

Vimala’s eyes found his, and she held them there firmly. “I said no.” She felt her forehead, her neck moisten with sweat.

Rajanna snorted, looking first at her, then at Kaanta with an incredulous expression.

“Kaanta, please show them out. It’s getting late.”

Vimala’s pulse was pushing against her brain, and she was acutely aware of each and every heartbeat that passed. Her mouth was dry, her shoulders stiff.

“Rajanna,” she said. “It’s not just about the debt, is it? Your love affair with Dion Productions?”

“What are you talking about?” the don said. Kaanta grabbed Vimala’s arm and tried to pull her to her feet, but Rajanna stopped him with a gesture. He sat forward in his seat, looking intently at Vimala.

“Surya and Nandan, they’re not just your debtors, are they? They’re more than that. I’ve been talking to them, and they never said anything directly, but you wanted a stake in the studio, didn’t you? And they weren’t willing to do that.”

“What makes you think that?” Rajanna attempted to appear indifferent, but she saw clearly there was more here than he was letting on.

“They wanted to pay off the debt. That’s why they were trying to get some new scripts, produce some shows. Pay you back in time. But you wanted ownership, and that they refused you.”

The mafia don’s full attention was fixed upon her, and Vimala felt herself going faint. But there was no denying it. And she’d gone too far to stop now.

“It didn’t make sense why you’d destroy our set. If you wanted to send a message so badly you could have gone after Surya or Nandan personally. But the whole set? It’s counterproductive. That’s what I just couldn’t understand this whole time.”

She paused a few beats. “But you weren’t trying to send a message at all. That was just you throwing a hissy fit because you couldn’t get what you wanted.”

Rajanna’s expression darkened. Vimala felt her stomach going small, her lungs collapsing in on themselves. Her thoughts crying to get out of her head before, surely, she was killed and they were lost forever. She could almost hear a gun being unholstered, feel the barrel against her head, the hammer clicked down. Her eyes closed. All this for 3 lakhs. All of this, and I don’t even get to see the money in the end.

“Figured that out by yourself?”

She opened her eyes again, and she was looking right at Rajanna who had a smirk on his face.

“What?” she croaked.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed,” he said. “Unless, of course, those two told you about it.”

“They didn’t,” Vimala said, her heart still beating with uncomfortable intensity.

“I’m going to choose to believe you,” he said with a beneficent smile. “It’s not so often I get such…reckless candour at this table. You really are desperate for that money, aren’t you?”

Vimala’s jaw grew taut. She didn’t say anything in reply, her eyes unable to meet his.

“I’m taking that as a yes,” Rajanna said, snorting. “But see, that’s the thing about business. It’s a fraught venture, whether you take risks or not. And being emotional about it will just come back and bite you in the ass. Now, how much did you invest in Dion? A few lakhs? Certainly not more than 5, or you’d be well-off enough to not risk coming here.”

“3.4,” Vimala mumbled.

“Right, 3.4. This will sound like a brag, but that…I could hand you that much in less than an hour. Cash. It’s not the amount that matters here, it’s the principle. Because if I let off everyone with a money problem they’d never meant to get into, I’d be in the same position as you.”

He sat back in his chair, exhaling deeply, as though he were thinking intently.

Vimala didn’t say anything. She couldn’t bring herself to, not after what he’d just said. I could hand you that much in less than an hour. Cash.

The bastard’s just toying with me. That’s it. He’s just fucking with me because why the fuck not?

“How far are you willing to go to get that money back?” Rajanna said, narrowing his eyes.

Vimala’s head shot up, her eyes locking with his. Her heart had suddenly quickened.

“Anything,” she blurted. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

“Vimala…!” Prakash hissed next to her, but she ignored him.

He frowned slightly. “Anything?”

She swallowed, considered for a second. “Just…please, nothing illegal. Please.”

The don chuckled, crossing his arms. “Well, that eliminates so many options, now, doesn’t it?”

“No, but I swear,” she said, sitting forward, “I’ll do everything in my power if it means getting my money back.”

Rajanna smiled.

*

Gaurav and Kalpana were sitting at a table, the shade of a small gulmohar tree blocking out the worst of the sun. The restaurant hadn’t been easy to find, especially because the board had been carved from wood that appeared to have faded and warped being exposed to the weather.

“Divya’s really good at figuring out directions,” Kalpana said, touching his arm. “Once she goes somewhere, she never forgets the route. She won’t be long, I’m sure.”

“It would be even better if she were good at figuring out how to get to a place on time,” Gaurav said, picking up his glass of water and studying it.

“Oh come on, give her a break,” Kalpana said. “It’s the first time she’s done this. Honestly.”

She watched him study the glass for a few moments.

“What are you even doing?”

“Trying to see if I can count every molecule of water in this glass before your friend gets here.”

“Oh my god, you’re really anal about this, you know that? She’s just 20 minutes late.”

“So far.”

“Then go get angry at her, why are you putting me through it?”

Gaurav glanced at her, a smile slowly forming. “You’re adorable when you get pissed off. It’s impossible to take you seriously.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.

“Okay, fine, enough with the PDA,” she said, looking away sulkily.

“You know, I’d feel really bad if PDA ever became totally acceptable in this country,” he said.

“What? Why?”

“Because where’s the fun in that? The thrill factor’s all gone. It just becomes physical, then.”

“Oh, so that’s what making out in public is to you? An adrenaline rush?” Kalpana said, and Gaurav laughed.

Kalpana looked up to see Divya emerge from the restaurant building, looking a little flushed as she trotted forward.

“Sorry, I’m sooo sorry you guys,” she said, hurrying forward to hug Kalpana. “My car, um…it kind of ran out of petrol.” She gave them a sheepish smile.

“Hey, that’s new, I don’t think you’ve used that one yet,” Kalpana said, appearing thoughtful.

“Shut up, Kalpana, it really happened, okay?” Divya said. “I have the receipt.”

She turned to Gaurav, smiled wide as she held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Divya.”

“Gaurav.”

“Kalpana tells me so much about you! It’s like you’re all she talks about these days.”

Gaurav laughed. Crossing his arms, he feigned a look of suspicion. “Hmmm. Is that true, babe?”

“No, of course not.”

“Hey, I don’t mind,” he said with a smirk. “I find that most flattering.”

Kalpana rolled her eyes. “The last thing you need is an ego boost.”

As they settled around the table, a waiter appeared with the menu cards. Divya rattled off a couple of starters and a peach ice tea, then handed her menu card back.

“Jesus, do you have the whole thing memorised?” Gaurav said, his eyes wide.

“You could say I come here every now and then,” she said, snickering.

“Hey Divya, you know Gaurav owns a café, right?” Kalpana said. “Mr. Romantic here took me there on our first date. To his own fricking café.”

Gaurav frowned. “That was a date? I thought it just a ‘let’s grab some coffee and bitch about Surabhi’ thing.”

“Oh yeah, Kalpana told me about the café,” Divya said. “Which one is it again?”

“The Twisted Bonsai. And no, the name was definitely not my idea.”

Divya chuckled. “I’d love to go there some time.”

“Ask him to take you,” Kalpana said. “They roast their own coffee, Divya! He’ll give you a full tour of their operations.”

“You mean that little shed behind the café?” Gaurav said. “Yeah, I don’t know how much I want to publicise that place.”

Divya sat up, eyes wide. “You guys make your own coffee? Oh, now you have to take me.”

It was nearly 4 PM by the time they got up from their table, and they slowly made their way to their cars. Divya hugged them, got in her car and drove off.

Gaurav and Kalpana got into his car, and she turned to him, grabbing his arm.

“So?” she said, beaming. “Did you like her?”

“Yeah, she’s great,” he said, smiling. “Really fun to talk to. I mean, I can’t fathom how you guys became best friends—“

“Why?”

“She’s literally never played a video game in her whole life,” he said, snorting.

“I know, right? She’s just so stubborn.”

A few seconds passed where neither of them spoke, and it was just the sound of their breathing in the car.

“She’s been having trouble with her boyfriend lately, hasn’t she?” Gaurav finally said.

“Yeah,” Kalpana said, her voice a little lower. “I’d asked her if we could do a double-date or something. He said no, apparently. I don’t know, that guy’s been acting like really weird for the past couple of months.”

Gaurav nodded, snorting wryly.

“What?” Kalpana said.

“Nothing.”

“No, tell me.”

“Seriously, it’s nothing.”

She frowned. “Gaurav, come on, just tell me!” She shook his arm.

He had a sarcastic half-smile. “It just makes more sense, now, that’s all.”

“What does?”

He looked at her as if she was stupid. “Seriously? You didn’t notice even once the whole time we were there?” Kalpana’s frown deepened, but she didn’t say anything. She looked at him in confusion.

Gaurav shook his head. “Your friend was hitting on me. The whole time.”

Kalpana flinched, an expression of shock as she regarded him. “What are you talking about?”

“You had to be deaf or something not to notice she was hitting on me, Kalpu,” Gaurav said. “But it’s fine, it’s not a big deal or anything.”

“No, of course it’s a big deal!” Kalpana’s voice was raised almost to a shout. “How can you say that about her?”

Gaurav raised his hands up defensively. “Hey, dude, relax. Please. I’m not accusing her of anything.”

She was glowering at him now, her lips pursed. “What made you even think like that?”

Gaurav sighed, shaking his head, cradling it in his hand.

“I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. Okay, fine. You want specifics? When you told her about my café, she said she’d love to go there. But then when you said I showed you the coffee mill behind the café, remember what she said?”

“Yeah, she wanted to see it, too.”

“Yes, but she said, ’now you have to take me.’ And lots of little things throughout lunch. And then she hugged me. Why would she hug me?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Kalpana said, “do you even hear yourself? Can’t you hug people without it meaning something else anymore? And—and the rest of it, all that stuff you mentioned…really? Gaurav, you’re overanalysing everything she’s doing. I’ve known this girl for years, she’s not—she’s not like that.”

“Okay,” Gaurav said, drawing out the word. He turned away, a look of exasperation on his face. “Okay. Please. I get it. She wasn’t hitting on me. End of story. Can we please stop talking about this now?”

“I don’t know what’s gotten over you,” Kalpana said in disappointment. Gaurav didn’t reply to that

He started the car, reversing out of the parking spot and onto the road. Kalpana just stared out the window, more at her own, faint reflection than the traffic outside. The food wasn’t sitting well in her stomach, not anymore.

”Oh, now you have to take me.”

”Why would she hug me?”

 

I don’t know.

The Generation Gap: Episode 8

“You did what?”

Divya was looking at her friend, her mouth gaping in shock.

“I don’t know how…why it happened,” Kalpana said with a sideways smile. “I just exploded. I was freaking out about what I was saying as I was saying it.”

“Dude, that’s some major sass you showed her,” Divya said, her eyebrows raised as she shook her head. “You’re unrecognisable to me.”

They were sitting on Divya’s bed, Kalpana sitting on one side and Divya sitting with her back against the wall, her arms wrapped around a fat, purple cushion.

Kalpana snorted. “Someone took your advice at last, eh?”

“Shit, I didn’t expect you to give the girl third degree burns like that,” Divya said, and she could help herself from smiling. “That was well and truly deserved, though. Fuck Surabhi. She’s a class-A bitch and no one’s had the balls to say anything to her.”

Divya held her gaze on Kalpana for a second, then she lunged forward, tackling Kalpana onto the bed. The girls laughed, screaming as they wrestled, and Divya held her down, tickling her.

“Stop, stop!” Kalpana squealed in between fits of laughter. “Oh my god, stop, DIVYA!”

Divya relented at last, giggling as she lay down flat on the bed. Kalpana lay down next to her, breathing heavily.

“Damn,” Kalpana said, panting. “How are you not tired? I’m hyperventilating already.”

Her friend smirked, turning on her side to face her. “Want more advice from your life guru? Come with me to the gym.” She poked Kalpana’s belly, her sides. “I’ll make sure all this goes right off.”

“My suit of armour?” Kalpana said. “Never.”

They both chuckled, shifting their gaze to the ceiling, staring at the plain white paint for almost a minute without saying a word.

“Is that when you went with Gaurav?” Divya said at last. “To his place? After you stormed out like a total badass.”

Kalpana felt a smile creep onto her lips, her face warming though she tried to suppress it.

“Yeah,” she said. “That was…nice.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was,” Divya said, snickering. “Must have been real nice.”

“Shut up. I don’t know why I tell you these things.”

They fell silent once more, and Kalpana turned to look at Divya. The smirk was gone from her lips, replaced by a sharp, pensive expression, her mouth thinned to a slit.

“Divya,” she said, breaking the silence and catching her friend’s attention. “What’s wrong?”

Divya met her eyes, held them for a few moments before breaking away.

“Nothing,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, come on,” Kalpana said. “You can’t say something like that and expect me not to ask you what it is.”

Divya didn’t say anything for what seemed like several minutes, her expression unchanged as she fixed her gaze on the ceiling. Kalpana waited patiently for she knew the answer was coming, but to prod her any further would be putting pressure on her.

After a few moments, Divya sighed in resignation.

“It’s Bharath,” she said. “He’s been acting really weird of late.”

Kalpana frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It’s kind of hard to explain…he doesn’t hang out with me as much, and even when he does, it’s like he barely listens to what I’m saying. The past five times we met, it’s always been me who’s asked him.”

“Really?” Kalpana said, moving on to her side. “Bharath? Your Bharath?”

“I know right?” Divya said, turning to face her. “He’s never been like this. It’s really frustrating.”

“Have you talked to him about it?”

Divya’s eyes didn’t meet hers. “No,” she said, her voice low, “I haven’t. It’s not…I don’t…” She clenched her teeth, confusion and distress souring her features.

“What?” Kalpana said gently.

“I don’t know if it’s just me, or if he’s really being distant with me. I keep replaying it in my head, but every time I think there’s something wrong with how he’s behaving, there’s this other part of me that’s telling me I’m reading into it too much. That I’m seeing things that aren’t there, making up problems for myself.”

“Why would you even think that?”

“It’s like I can’t trust my own feelings anymore. I’m so…confused, Kalpana. So fucking confused. And sometimes when he does shit like this I start to wonder if maybe I’m doing something wrong. And that becomes its own downward spiral.”

Kalpana watched her friend for a time, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound cursory or dismissive.

“Divya, look, I get it. We all feel like we’ve screwed up at some point. And sometimes it’s not clear who did what. Like with you and Bharath right now. But you can’t dwell on this to the point of paralysis, can you? Your whole life will become consumed by this problem.”

“My thoughts aren’t a switch I can just turn off and on, Kalpu.”

“I know. So instead of constantly wondering why he’s acting that way, just ask him. Get some closure. Don’t waste your time speculating.”

She heard Divya exhale deeply. Kalpana wondered if what she’d said had fallen with any weight on her ears, or if they’d just slid off without a trace.

They heard footsteps outside the room coming closer. Divya and Kalpana sat up as the door swung open and a woman appeared. She was in a police inspector’s uniform, and Kalpana saw the shined black shoes that had made the sharp sound of footsteps.

“You girls better not be sleeping,” she said, her voice stern and flat.

Divya rolled her eyes. “Amma, please, we were just taking a break, okay?”

Her mother raised her eyebrows, clearly unconvinced. “That’s all you seem to be doing these days. If I had the time, I’d have kept my lathi with me and made you study.”

“Ooh, I’m so scared of your big, bad stick, Mumma,” Divya said, making an exaggerated face to go with it.

“You won’t be so cocky when I actually beat you with it.”

“Right.”

Kalpana giggled. “Don’t worry, aunty. I promise we’re studying a lot.”

“Hmm,” Divya’s mother said. “Let’s hope so. I’m running late, so I’m leaving now. I’ll see you later today. Kalpana, you’ll be here for dinner?”

“Uh, no aunty, I’ll need to back home by 6.”

She nodded, waving at the girls as she turned around and left. Kalpana could see the solid arms under her sleeves, her slim torso that went down to her straight, toned legs. Her back was ramrod straight as she walked, and Kalpana couldn’t help but stare in awe.

“Your mom has got to be the most scarily strong-looking women I’ve seen. Like, ever.”

Divya smirked. “Why do you think I started going to the gym in the first place? She gives me a major inferiority complex.”

Kalpana met her eyes, and she saw the way they became shadowed again. She was about to say something when Divya spoke.

“Anyway, I’m super excited for you, Kalpu,” she said, her face lighting up. “Your first boyfriend! You know that’s a big deal, right?”

Kalpana felt a flush in her cheeks, smiling. “Yeah,” she muttered.

“Look at you, all coy and shit,” Divya said, sneering. “I want to see him. ASAP. Got it?”

Kalpana’s smile broadened. “Yes ma’am. I promise.”

---

“Look, I swear to God, I had no idea he was going to do that, okay? I had no fucking clue. He’s never…I mean, it’s never come to this.”

Surya was sitting on a plastic chair in the hospital cafeteria, a plain vegetable sandwich on the plate in front of him. His face looked drawn, his features stretched taut with fear. Vimala and Prakash sat across from him, expressionless. Vimala was holding an ice pack against her cheek. The freezing cold had numbed the left side of her face, but she could feel the condensation slowly dripping down her cheek.

“It’s never come to this?” Prakash said, scowling. “So how long exactly have you owed this Rajanna fellow money?”

Surya’s face soured, as though the very sight of the sandwich brought a sickly taste to his mouth. He was thinking a million thoughts, as they all were, and this particular one was evidently something he’d have liked to put behind him.

“That’s not important right now,” he said distractedly.

“You have got to be shitting me,” Prakash said, turning to look at Vimala. There was a vacant expression on her face, her cheek and jaw still aching from the impact of four solid knuckles against it. Realising she was in no position to speak, he pulled his gaze back to Surya. “Listen, you piece of shit. Right now, everything is important. We need full fucking disclosure about this whole mess you’ve got us in. I swear to God, we will sue the shit out of you—“

“We can’t,” Vimala rasped. Prakash glanced at her with a questioning look.

“What? Why? Wasn’t the contract—“

“The contract makes me liable for it. All 3 lakhs and forty thousand rupees. I was only going to make it back if the show got sold to a distributor.”

He whipped around to face her. “Wait, that’s what the contract said? And you still fucking signed it?”

Vimala was silent, staring glassily at the table. Prakash leaned forward, head in his hands.

“Oh, shit. Oh, God.” He paused, as if to catch his breath. “Oh shit.”

Vimala took a slow breath. “Please, Prakash,” she said in a weary, pained voice. “I know I took a stupid risk and it backfired, okay? I know that. I shouldn’t have done it. Can you please spare me the details and try to help me solve this mess?”

“This wasn’t just a stupid risk, Vimala,” Prakash said. “This was downright irresponsible. You know how much of your own savings you blew on this project.”

“Blew?” Vimala’s breath caught in her throat for a minute, and she had to fight back tears to keep herself composed. “Prakash, why are you saying these things? It was supposed to be an investment. And not some empty investment, I was working so hard just to get this show off the ground!”

“And what did that get you?” he sneered. “What’s this investment brought you so far?”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know these guys owed money to criminals?”

“Who the fuck signs a contract that gives them literally zero leverage in the deal?”

Prakash opened his mouth to say more, but he was silenced by what he saw in Vimala’s face. Something had snapped inside her. Her eyes glistened wetly as they struggled to maintain contact with his, and her face was like the bluff walls of a dam holding back too much water. The surface developing cracks, chunks of reinforcement breaking off and raining down below in a last, futile bid to stay solid, even as spouts of water forced their way through. He watched as she broke before him, her pent-up emotions spilling forth.

“Prakash,” she said, the word coming in a hoarse whisper as she swallowed, forced her quivering lips open. “I was fired from the only job I’ve had. Not laid off, fired. A place I’ve gone to for years. I felt like I was thrown out onto the middle of the highway when I got that letter. My husband earns less than I used to, and my family will drown if I don’t get work soon. I’d never done something like this before, and I was desperate. I was desperate, Prakash, that’s why I signed it. That’s why I spent all my money on this. Don’t you get it?”

She frowned, tears in her eyes, grimacing as though a sharp blade had been slowly inserted into her gut. Every word she spoke worsened the ache in her jaw.

“I shouldn’t have done it. I know that. But I couldn’t have known about the gangsters. I couldn’t have known about any of this. And every time you tell me what a fool I was for signing that contract, all I can think of is Kalpana, who won’t be able to go to college because of what I did. I know I fucked up, Prakash. Can you please, just please not be an absolute asshole and keep rubbing it in?”

Prakash stared at her in an almost horrified silence. He swallowed, his hand reaching for her shoulder but she moved away.

“Vimala…” He sounded wistful, his eyes heavy with regret.

She pushed away, standing as she dropped the bag of half-melted ice onto the table.

“I need to get some air.”

---

Anita held the bowl under the tap in her kitchen sink, rinsing off the soap. Turning off the tap, she held the bowl close, examining the surface. She pursed her lips. There was this one tiny spot of she couldn’t tell what—dirt or food, something. She just couldn’t seem to be able to wipe it clean. Gritting her teeth, Anita turned the tap on again, trying to dislodge the little stain with her thumbnail.

The doorbell rang behind her. Putting the bowl aside, she went to the door, checking the peephole. Her eyes lit up.

“Kanaka, hi!” she said as she opened the door, a broad smile on her face. “Didn’t expect to see you so early today.”

Kanaka was only a few years older than Anita, though she looked considerably younger. She had straight black hair, only now beginning to grey, and her narrow forehead had a large bindi. She smiled warmly at Anita, stepping inside.

“How was your trip to Dharmasthala?” she said. “You went with Usha, didn’t you?”

“It was lovely, Kanaka,” Anita said, heading into the kitchen and putting some water to boil in a pan. “The temple was so beautiful. A little crowded, people pushing and pulling—the usual. But there’s just something about the place, you know? You can feel the energy when you step inside.”

The tap was running in the sink, a small bowl overflowing inside it. Kanaka went forward and quietly turned it off.

“I went there nearly six years ago,” she said. “I know exactly what you mean, Anu. I wonder if it’s changed at all.”

Anita had to stand on her toes to reach a box of tea on the top shelf. “So many shops around the complex,” she said with a look of distaste. “All people want to do is make money these days. No one cares about sanctity.”

Kanaka snorted, watching Anita pour the tea into the milky water.

“Where was Sandhya when you guys were travelling?”

“Oh, that girl is such a darling. Usha and I were originally supposed to go and come back the same day, but she insisted we stay the night there. It’s a four or five-hour drive, and it was so much easier that we got to stay overnight. She even booked the hotel for us.”

Kanaka had a small smile on her face. “I’m sure she did.”

Anita turned to her with a confused smile. “What do you mean?”

Kanaka locked gazes with her friend, a pitying look in her eyes. But her demeanour was stiff, almost wary. “Is anyone else at home?”

Anita frowned, betraying a hint of fear. “No, it’s just me at home. But why—“

Kanaka moved forward, turning off the gas under the tea that was just starting to boil.

“The tea was almost ready, what are you—“ Anita was saying, but she stopped as Kanaka took her hand.

“Come with me,” she said, leading her out of the kitchen. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Kanaka, I don’t understand—“

“You will. I promise.”

Kanaka led her to the dining table, where she drew a chair out for both of them.

“Sit,” she said.

“Did something happen? Why are you acting so strange?” Anita’s voice sounded almost shrill now, her eyes wide with concern.

Kanaka didn’t reply for several moments, sitting in her chair and gazing down at the table, as if observing every grain in the polished wood. She bit her lip.

“I don’t know how to say this, Anita,” she said.

“Kanaka, you’re scaring me,” Anita said, moving to the edge of her seat. “What happened? Tell me.”

The woman sighed, shaking her head, not meeting her friend’s eyes.

“You said Sandhya made you stay the night at Dharmasthala, didn’t you?” she said.

“Yeah, she did. What has that—“

“She’s hiding things from you, Anita. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, it breaks my heart. But it wasn’t for your comfort that she booked you that hotel.”

Anita frowned, but before she could say anything, Kanaka went on. “I saw her bring a man to the house, Anu. On the day you were gone. I don’t know who he was, and I didn’t really get a good look at his face. But I saw them clearly. He was an older man, he looked to be in his 40s. Anita, she—“

“What are you saying, Kanaka?” Anita said, wide-eyed in horror.

“I swear to God I’m not lying, Anita,” she said, her voice growing urgent. “I saw them. I saw you daughter with some fellow. Why would I lie to you? I have nothing against your daughter. I’m telling you this for your sake, Anu. You have to believe me.”

Anita’s face was a whirlwind of barely suppressed emotion. She gripped the handrest of her chair so tightly her fingers turned white, bloodless.

“Nonsense,” she managed, her eyes unfocussed. “Nonsense! It’s not possible. I know it’s not possible. My Sandhya? That’s just…no, I refuse to believe it.”

Kanaka had known her friend wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t believe her. She swallowed, then softened her tone.

“Anita, I know this is really hard for you to come to terms with. Sandhya’s always been a good daughter—“

“A good daughter!” Anita said, rising as if struck by lightning. “Sandhya was the only thing that kept me afloat after my husband died. She helped me regain the memories I’d lost, she was there for me every minute of every day when I was completely dependent on someone else. I trust her with my life, Kanaka! And you come here and…and…spew this slander about her!”

Kanaka didn’t say anything for a moment. Anita was too livid. Her eyes were welling up, her lower lip quivering. It was understandable, her reaction. But Anita was her friend. How could she remain silent?

“I honestly can’t imagine how much this would hurt you, Anu,” she began softly.

“Don’t…” Anita said, closing her eyes as if that would staunch the boiling outrage that was threatening to spill out of her.

“But I had to tell you, Anita,” her friend whispered softly. “I couldn’t see you being lied to like that. It’s not right.”

Anita’s eyes focussed on a single point on the wall, concentrating all her anger upon it. She felt a sudden clarity sweep through her, a resolve like solid stone.

“Kanaka,” she began slowly, not deigning to look at her, “Sandhya is my daughter. Mine and Janardhan’s. My husband and I have done all that we can to bring her up right. She may not be perfect, she has her flaws, but my daughter is not a whore.”

Kanaka’s eyes widened as she stood. “Anita, I didn’t mean—“

“Get out of my house, Kanaka,” she whispered, choking on her words. “Please. If you have any love for me at all, please leave.”

Her breath came shakily, and she had to force the tears back. She heard the rustle of clothing, slowly growing fainter, then the sound of a door opening, quietly closing shut. Anita stood there for a time, motionless. Her eyes cast about aimlessly, a million thoughts swimming through the frothing rapids gushing within her mind, but none of them she took notice of, letting the noise fill her head.

Anita’s eyes stopped on her bedroom door. She stepped inside, closing it behind her. There was only one image hanging on the wall, on the far side of the small room. A small, wan smile flitted across her features, and was gone.

“You must have heard what happened outside,” she said with a sigh. “I don’t know what came over her, Janna. I really don’t. Sandhya? Our Sandhya? Do you honestly think our daughter is capable of that?”

She shook her head. “I can’t even think of Sandhya doing such…vile things. And that too with an older man. You heard that, Janardhan. I never imagined Kanaka was capable of talking like that.”

She sat down on the bed in front of her husband’s image. The scent of the flower garland she’d hung from it early that morning had filled the room, and she could smell the sweet jasmine petals as they hung soft and white around the old photo frame.

“Sandhya would never do such a thing, Janna,” she said. Anita’s eyes were on her feet as she rocked to and fro. She bit her lip. “Would she?”

---

Vimala took a spoonful of bhel puri, chewing slowly, wincing at the pinpricks of pain in her jaw. The park bench had been cold when she’d sat on it, but was slowly taking on the warmth of her body. She watched vehicles on the road beyond drive past, tree branches extending their patchwork shade onto glinting windshields. Women wearing sarees and salwars with oddly unmatched sneakers speed-walked on the path around the park.

“Figured I’d find you here,” a voice called out from a short distance. Vimala didn’t turn at that, her gaze fixed trancelike at the slow-moving traffic. The sound of her own chewing filled her ears.

Prakash strode up to the park bench she was sitting on, wry smirk crossing his face. “For all your attempts at subverting the genre, you’re terribly predictable in real life.”

She looked up at him, smiled sweetly. “Why did you stop? Don’t you know I just love to hear you talk about my failures in painstaking detail?”

He paused, meeting her eyes with an expression she recognised with a flush of indignant rage. The look of a parent with a child he doesn’t know quite what to do with. It was a look she’d found herself making when Kalpana was being difficult, wantonly defiant. Suddenly her heart sank a little, and the bhel puri was a little harder to swallow. When Prakash moved to sit down, she moved a little to make space.

“It’s not easy watching you get yourself into these situations, Vimala,” he said.

She snorted. “Try being the one in this situation. It’s way more fun.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he said, sitting back. He looked at her. “Maybe I went too far with my reproach. And if I did, I’m sorry. But sometimes it’s really hard to contain the anger, you know? This blind anger at seeing someone act like such a complete and utter asshat.”

“Where are you going with this again?” Vimala said dryly.

“My point is it hurt that you didn’t ask me before signing that contract. I know you’d have read it cover to cover and understood every last clause like you had to memorise it. You knew the implications of a contract this utterly predatory and one-sided and still went ahead with it. I was supposed to be your partner in this venture, Vimala. And you didn’t so much as consult with me before signing the damn papers?”

Vimala ate another spoonful of bhel puri.

“You would have tried to talk me out of it,” she said.

“Damn right I would have! Anyone with some sense would.”

“If I got cold feet then, I’d never be able to take a plunge like that again.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Vimala fell silent. Reflexively, her reaction was one of shock. It was hard for her to countenance a response like that. He hadn’t tasted the same desperation she had, hadn’t felt the way she did—like she was standing at the lip of a precipice that seemed to just go down farther and farther. He didn’t know the fear with which she gripped that ball-point pen as she scrawled her signature onto that damn contract.

But it’s impossible to be objective when you’re being driven over the edge of a cliff. There was nothing logical in what she’d done. Vimala was beginning to see that now. She’d blinded herself to the stipulations in her contract about the money. She’d seen them for what they were, but hadn’t considered their viciousness until it was too late.

“Anyway, what’s done is done, I guess,” Prakash said, his voice heavy with disappointment. “I’ve been speaking with Surya.”

“About the show?” Vimala’s eyes didn’t meet his, were focussed intensely on the red tiles laid on the walking path.

“Of course not. Are you serious? The show’s dead, Vimala. At least for now. And we’re definitely not touching Dion Productions with a barge pole. No, I was talking to him about the money.”

Vimala’s gaze did not move, and it disconcerted Prakash as he waited for her reply.

3.4 lakhs. I’m the only one who saw that cheque, the only one who saw the numbers in our bank account drop like sand from a bag ripped wide open. We’ve nothing left. Kalpana’s still in school, and Sundar has no idea. It was his money, too, and he doesn’t even know it’s all gone.

“What about it?” she said distractedly.

“I’m going to try getting some back from him. He has that responsibility to us. I can’t trust the bastard, I know that, but I’m going to make him give it back. At least some of it. Anything.”

“You know that’s not going to happen,” Vimala said. “They’re trying claw their way out of a mountain of debt. They have a gangster to answer to. I’m the least of their concerns right now.” If Prakash noticed how compulsively Vimala was fidgeting with her hands, he didn’t say anything.

“So what do you want to do, then?” he said, turning to face her. “Roll on your back and give it up? Not even try? Vimala, you don’t have that luxury, I can tell you that much for certain.”

Her hands became still, her eyes clearing. She sat straight, and though she had the appearance of calm, there was a tightness in her jaw, in her shoulders. Finally, she turned and looked at him.

“Prakash,” she said, her tone brittle, “it’s not going to avail us anything. They’re just…boys. Surya and Nandan don’t know what they’re doing, and whether they fuck it up worse for themselves or not, they’re in no shape to help us out. We can’t waste time with them.”

Prakash frowned. “What are you getting at?” he said slowly.

“They’re not the ones who call the shots.” Vimala’s eyes evaded his, her breathing shaky. “I’m going to talk to the guy who does.”

The Generation Gap: Episode 7

Vimala was hunched over her desk, her pencil running over a large white sheet of paper in the rough, scribbled shape of a human head. The torso came down in angle to rest agains the side of a table…no, too much angle. He looked like he was about to tip over. She exhaled from her mouth, running an eraser vigorously across the torso line.

Her eyes were lined, the skin on her face drawn from exhaustion and lack of sleep. Last night she’d only gotten maybe three disturbed hours of it, though not for lack of trying. A thin patina of sweat covered her face, but she couldn’t turn on the ceiling fan; the paper would keep fluttering. She put the pencil to paper again, began drawing. Light strokes, nothing permanent. For all she knew, they’d scrap half of these papers tomorrow when they actually got down to shooting. Nothing permanent.

She briefly glanced up at the clock. 7 PM Sunday. Christ, didn’t I start at 6 in the morning? She closed her eyes for a few moments, trying to breathe a little slower, deeper. Fucking Dion Productions. Fucking Surya and Nandan, fuck those guys. I’m a screenwriter, not a damn storyboard artist—

No, stop it, stop it! I signed up for this. They told me even before I signed the contract that I’d be doing lots of extra jobs. It’s a shoestring budget, what did I expect? They’re no studio!

A shoestring budget I paid nearly half of.

Vimala opened her eyes, and she realised she was gritting her teeth. She desultorily opened her drawer, saw her chequebook lying amidst a clutter of stationery. She picked it up, flipping the cover to the list of transactions. Her eyes stopped at the third and last entry, the payee’s name. Dion Productions. The number she saw right next to it churned her stomach. Rs. 3,40,000. Her thumb ran across the number, once, twice. Maybe, just maybe it would disappear. Erased from the chequebook and back in her account.

I can’t make my baby without this. It’s an investment. Once I finish…

Once I finish, I’ll be that one rube who paid for the pilot episode all by herself. The cheque’s been cashed already, the least I can do is not be deluded about my own finances.

Vimala cracked a wan smile. She’d always thought it a blessing that Sundar never bothered getting involved with their bank accounts and credit. Now she was dubious of her own ability to be rational with them. You need just one guy to steer a ship, but without another one to warn you of icebergs in your path…

Vimala shook her head, stepping out of a trance. She tossed the chequebook back inside, slamming the drawer shut. There was no time for this. She had to finish these damn storyboards. Drawing was such a bloody drag—

There was a knock on her door. The door slowly opened, and Kalpana stepped inside, her expression almost apologetic. She had a plate in her hand.

“Hi Mummy,” she said. “You’ve been sitting in here forever. Figured you’d be hungry, so…” She handed Vimala the plate.

“What’s this?”

“Cheese and vegetable sandwiches,” she said. “Grilled. And I added some other stuff, try to guess what it is.”

“You made these?” Vimala said, taking a bite. “Baby, it’s so good. Is that pesto sauce?” Kalpana nodded, and it was exactly how she used to do it when she was five. Vimala was overcome with an emotion she couldn’t explain, reaching forward and hugging her daughter tightly.

Kalpana had a bemused smile on her face. “Didn’t realise you liked pesto that much,” she said, hugging her back. She looked down at Vimala. “You were in here all day, you barely ate anything. So I thought I’d make you something.” Her smile was wry, even a little sad.

“I’m sorry, Kalpu,” Vimala said, sighing as she held her daughter’s hand. “I’ve been so busy with this new series. We don’t have a major studio backing us, so I have to fill a lot of shoes to keep things moving.” She pulled Kalpana toward herself, making her sit on her lap.

“Mum, I’m not 10,” Kalpana said with a small laugh.

“You’ll always be that adorable little baby with pig-tails and a mushroom nose to me, Kalpu. No matter how big you get.” Vimala leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.

“Mushroom nose?” Kalpana turned to look at her mother. “Thanks, mom.” Her head swung to the table where sheets of paper lay in different piles and her laptop on one corner. Her eyes immediately fell on the drawings.

“Why do you make these?” Kalpana said. “Don’t you have scripts?”

“Usually we don’t bother with storyboards,” Vimala said, some of the lines returning to her face. “Not in such small shows. But this is different. I’m putting a lot of thought into how we block a scene. Having these drawing helps the cinematographer figure out how to place the camera.”

“So what’s the director’s job, then?”

“He’s handling all sorts of things on the shoot. He’s telling the actors and cameraman what to do. These are just for the important scenes. You can’t afford to get into those without planning.”

Kalpana rolled her eyes. “Films are only fun on screen, clearly.”

Vimala smiled wryly. “I wouldn’t say that. But they aren’t easy to make, I’ll tell you that. If you want to do a good job, that is.” Both of them chuckled at that.

As Kalpana got up, her phone rang in her pocket. As she took it out, Vimala said, “Someone’s phone has been awfully busy these past few days.”

“What? No, nothing like that,” Kalpana said a little too quickly. “It’s nothing.” She looked down at her phone again. “It’s…Divya calling. I’ll just take this.” She hurried out of the room.

Vimala was just about to turn back to her storyboard sheet when the doorbell rang. She heard Kalpana opening the door and talking to someone, though she couldn’t hear what they were saying. Footsteps approached, and Kalpana stuck her head inside the room.

“Mummy, it’s some guy called Faizal,” she said. “Says he used to work with you.”

Vimala frowned, taking a second to process the information. Kalpana was already gone. She rose, going to the front door.

When she opened it, she saw Faizal standing there, a small plastic bag in his hand.

“Hi,” she said, the surprise evident in her voice.

“Hey,” he said, an awkward smile on his face. For a moment they just stood there.

“Oh, um, come in,” she said finally, as if breaking out of a trance. “Please, come on in.”

Faizal stepped inside, following her to the living room. Vimala gestured for him to sit.

“Oh, and this is for you,” Faizal said, taking out a small box from the bag, handing it to her. “You should try these. It’s literally a crime to share them with anyone else, but I’m taking a chance this time.”

She chuckled. “What’s all this for? Why the sudden visit?”

“I just…” his eyes shifted away from her, unfocussed. “I was hoping we could talk. You know, about things. Sorry, is this a bad time? I just kind of dropped in.”

“Oh, you know, I was just getting done with some work. It’s fine.” Even she could tell how feeble that sounded. Stop being a prick, Vimala. Take a break. “Hey, you want something to drink? Some snacks?”

“Just water, thanks,” Faizal said, sitting down.

She hurried to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water, placing a few cookies and some ambodes on a small plate. She took them back to the living room, placing them on the small coffee table.

“Yeah, that’s definitely not just water,” Faizal said with a wry smile. He looked at the snacks. “Vada and cookies? That looks like an identity crisis on a plate.”

“Shut up and eat it,” Vimala said, smirking. “And it’s ambode. Not vada, you illiterate.”

“There’s the Vimala we know and love.”

“So what are these ‘things’ you wanted to talk about?” she said, crossing one leg over the other.

Faizal nodded, and his head dropped. He sighed audibly.

“Okay,” he said, moving to the edge of his seat as he met Vimala’s eyes again. “Before I say anything, I want you to know that I’m not here to ask you for a job or anything like that. I swear to you, my intention is only to talk to you and tell you how I feel, because of all people you deserve to know. And I would feel immensely shitty if you thought I was coming here to ask you for something, which I absolutely am not. Okay?”

Vimala was silent, studying him with a curious gaze. She nodded in response.

“I’m just going to admit it, Vimala,” Faizal said. “The show’s kind of keeled over since you left. I mean, I know it was getting cancelled anyway, but it’s…it’s gotten really bad. It’s a real shitstorm in the office, no one knows what’s going on. Most of them don’t care, with the cancellation and everything, but I can’t help but think what it’s going to be like in future shows.”

“What do you mean?” Vimala said.

“It’s those producers, Vimala. Not Prakash, I mean the executives. They’re getting paranoid now that one show’s in the bin. We had a meeting yesterday, and all they seemed to be interested in is cutting things from the existing shows, tightening schedules. Romesh and I are stretched over two shows at this point, and with you gone it’s just the two of us. How the hell am I supposed to write that fast? What kind of plot am I supposed to come with at that rate?”

“Tell Quentin Tarantino to figure it out for you,” she said.

“Don’t even get me started on Romesh,” Faizal said, unconcerned with hiding his distaste. “He knows he’s an asshat, and he revels in it. When I tried to talk to the higher-ups about all these budget cuts, he didn’t even bother to support me.”

“You knew what kind of guy he was when you decided to back him in shooting my ideas down,” Vimala said, not breaking eye contact with him.

“Vimala, come on, man. Don’t act like you really thought those outlandish storylines would ever get greenlighted. It’s like you were doing it just to piss them off. You were wasting time.”

“Nice that you took the trouble of coming all the way to my house to tell me this,” she said. She turned away from him, crossing her arms and leaning back in her couch.

Faizal grimaced. “Vimala, look, I’m sorry, okay? That’s why I came here. To apologise. I’m really sorry for the things I’ve said to you that may have hurt you. For everything. I will say this—we had a job to stick to a budget and you kept trying to break it like a petulant child, and it was kind of my job to hold you back—“

“I’m really loving this apology,” Vimala said, raising her eyebrows.

“But—I’m not done yet—but, you were that show, Vim. You’re one of the best screenwriters I’ve ever worked with. I don’t care what Romesh says about you, you made that show what it was. And for the record, I really did like most of your ideas. I just couldn’t agree to them, that’s all.”

“Romesh always was a prick, wasn’t he?” she said.

“Yeah, he was—is.”

He was silent for several moments, shaking his head, his eyes roving the ceiling. He wore an expression of begrudging transparency, clearly reluctant to be so forthcoming. But she could tell there was no hint of deception there. She could always tell with Faizal.

When she didn’t respond, he looked at her to see a small smirk on her face.

“Oh yeah,” he said dryly. “Go ahead. Gloat. Like I care.”

“I’m not gloating,” Vimala said softly. She hadn’t lost her smirk, though.

A long silence filled the empty seconds that ticked by.

“You really feel that way?” Vimala regarded him with eyes that were wary of—almost searching—for some kind of falsehood. Or that this was all some elaborate prank he was trying to pull on her. It was ridiculous, she knew, but she couldn’t help it.

“Yes. You’re the last person I’d bare my heart out to if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.”

She snorted.

“Thank you, Faizal,” she said with a soft smile. “For the record, I want you to know that you were one of the few people in the office I actually liked. One of three, to be exact.”

He gave her an amused grin, but his eyes betrayed a silent warmth.

“I’m deeply honoured,” he said.

“So, what’s the plan now?”

Faizal shrugged. “Was there ever one?” He fixed her with a sharp look. “You look like you haven’t slept in days. What have you been doing since you quit?”

“Since I got fired? Well, one of the scripts I’d been writing on the side got approved by this small production house. They want to approach Netflix and Amazon with this. We’re going to start shooting the pilot episode tomorrow.”

Faizal looked dumbfounded. “Wait, what?”

Vimala buffed her nails against her shirt, blowing on them. “All in a day’s work,” she beamed, chuckling.

“Holy shit, Vim, that’s amazing!” He looked genuinely excited. “Dude, I’m so happy for you. That’s great! How did it happen so quickly, though?”

“Thank Prakash for that. He sent the script to a bunch of different studios and producers. Have you heard of Dion Productions?”

Faizal frowned, thinking. “Can’t say that I have. What kind of name is that?”

“I think it’s meant to be Dionysus. You know, the Greek god of theatre.”

“And booze,” he said. “And orgies. Hmm, I like it.”

“Shut up.”

Faizal glanced at his watch. “Oh, damn, I need to get going. It’s pretty late.” He rose, smoothing down his shirt as Vimala walked him toward the door.

“And again, congratulations on the whole webseries thing. Send me the script if you can, sometime.”

“Of course,” Vimala said with a smile. “I’ll send it tonight itself. Oh, and thanks for coming by. I’m really glad we got to have this talk.”

“Me too,” he said, nodding. “Me too. It had been kind of weighing on me for some time. It wouldn’t have been right not to.”

They shook hands, and as Faizal turned and stepped out of the doorway, he stopped.

“Vimala, if you ever feel like you need a writer for something you’re working on, give me call. I’d definitely…consider it.”

She was silent as he sat on the stool outside, putting on his shoes. She was unconsciously running a fingernail along the wood grain of the door, eyes looking in his direction but unfocussed. She felt time was moving much too quickly for her to think. He’d already worn his first shoe. Now he was tying the lace on the second one. He was getting up to leave…

“Faizal,” she blurted. He turned to face her with a questioning look. She thought for a moment longer. She could still dismiss the thought, say it’s nothing. It wouldn’t even sound odd. Or would it?

Fuck it.

“Can you be here at 8:30 in the morning tomorrow? That’s when I’m leaving.”

He frowned. “But I’m going to the office tomorrow.”

“I know,” she said with half a smile. “Consider it.”

*

“Just leave the sign that says ‘Clean my room’ on the door when you’re going out,” Sandhya said, toying with a key bunch as she spoke over the phone. “The hotel guys will come and tidy up.”

She listened for a few seconds, her eyes rolling as she sat back in the car seat.

“Ma, they’re not going to steal your stuff, they’ll be held accountable for it if they do.” She paused, gritting her teeth. “Can you please stop acting like you’ve never stayed at a hotel before? Yes, there are cameras in the corridors. Not in the rooms, just the corridors. What do you have that they’ll be interested in stealing, anyway?”

After another several moments of silence, she spoke. “You’re staying there one night. I don’t even know why you need to get your room cleaned. Okay, I need to get going, Ma. I’ll call you in the evening. Okay? Bye, love you.”

Sandhya’s eyes widened in frustration as she ended the call.

“My mother has got to be the most paranoid woman in the world,” she said, shaking her head, then turning to face Sundar.

“Why is she even staying at a hotel?” he said with a small frown. “Dharmasthala’s not that far away.”

“Let’s just say she’s super-easy to convince,” Sandhya said, suppressing a smile. “And I thought it would be nice to have an empty to house for a day.”

“Oh.” Sundar’s voice was low, unsure. He fiddled with his car keys, the soft jangling sound breaking the silence. His hands were clammy and restless, and the keys felt slick in his palm.

“Let’s go,” Sandhya said, stepping out of the car.

Sundar’s hand lingered on the handle for a moment. This was the same car he’d started teaching Kalpana driving in barely two months ago. Vimala hated the very idea of it, but her daughter had prevailed over her. Kalpana had promised them that once she’d gotten really good, she’d take them both on a trip to Mysore and drive every last inch of the way herself.

“Not before you get your license, silly girl,” Vimala had said.

“Of course, mummy, how could I ever disobey you?” Kalpana said, wrapping her mother in her arms and kissing her cheek.

Sundar’s eyes regained focus, and he realised he’d let his fingers go limp under the car door handle, the tips white from the light pressure. He opened the door and stepped out into the late afternoon sun, stretching his back. Sandhya was standing a short distance away, fixing him with a curious stare, the ghost of a smile on her lips. In a moment of disconcerting clarity, he knew she understood. There was nothing threatening about the look in her eyes, nothing poisonous. There was a perverse comfort Sundar felt in knowing that she could understand what was going on inside of him.

She didn’t say anything when he came up to her, just took his hand in hers and walked with him towards her house.

The quiet residential street had hardly anyone populating it now. Judging by the look of the small, two-storey houses on either side of the road, Sundar guessed it was an old neighbourhood, with mostly senior citizens living there.

That would explain the unnatural stillness on a weekday afternoon.

He felt an acute discomfort at that thought, as though he were being watched. It felt too quiet, too sleepy for such a central neighbourhood in the city. He was keenly aware of the sounds of vehicles plying the nearby streets, the occasional car honk. A gate creaked open, a man stepped out of his compound. Sundar stiffened, and he tried to disengage himself from her grip, but Sandhya held fast, moving closer to him. He clenched his teeth, praying that the man wouldn’t look his way.

She stopped at one of the houses, a quaint-looking place with soft blue paint and small windows that made it look as though it were gaping wide-eyed at the street. Sandhya opened the door and went inside, and Sundar followed.

It was a simple house, modestly furnished, with a profusion of God photos and little brass idols.

What a mockery she’s made of this devotion, he thought bitterly. You do have a sense of humour, Sandhya, however dark.

“I’m just going to get changed,” she said, making him look up at her. She flashed him a naughty smile. “Want to join?”

He didn’t reply, lowering himself down on the couch. She snickered softly, bounding up the stairs and shutting a door.

He let out a long breath through his nose, staring at the small flatscreen TV in front of him. He could see himself in its shiny black surface, an unmemorable middle-aged man, by all counts a professor of English literature and nothing more. A man you’d pass by on the street and never notice.

Why me? What caught her fancy when she saw…this? The sort of man you forget about once leaves the class when the bell rings. What am I to her?

He’d believed he knew himself before then. Who he was, what he was capable of, and…what he wasn’t. This wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. There couldn’t be things he didn’t know about himself after 43 years. For the last 19 years, he’d been a family man; that’s all he was ever supposed to be. All he ever could be.

But then this girl appeared, and she…desired him. There was no explanation he could possibly conceive of to explain it, yet she did all the same. She was less than half his age, hardly much older than his own daughter. The very thought churned his stomach. He was frozen within that TV, staring at himself as if through the glass in a museum, a wholly unassuming, ordinary exhibit. Until you went closer. Then the cracks became visible, the grotesque mind that twisted and writhed inside. Oh god, how he hated himself.

She came to me.

He tried to push the thought away. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t, he couldn’t succumb to it.

But she did. I never sought her out, did I? She came to me. She wants me. How can I control that?

But it wasn’t normal. It was wrong…

He felt two hands cover his eyes, and he started. He felt Sandhya’s presence very close to him, her cheek brushing against his ear.

“Close your eyes,” she whispered. Her hands slowly lifted from his face. “Keep them closed, no peeking.”

He heard her moving next to him, then felt her arms around his neck. “Now you can look.”

He opened his eyes, looking at the little table in front of him. A bottle filled with amber liquid sat on it, the glass in an intricate pattern so the whole thing sparkled, mottling the table with a soft, honey-coloured light.

“Sandhya, is that scotch?” he said, frowning as he studied the bottle.

She nuzzled close to him, kissing his neck. “I thought we could make our first date special.”

He reached forward to take the bottle, examining it. “Sandhya, how much did this cost?”

She made a show of looking upset. “Sundar, can we please not talk about money right now?” She took the bottle from him and put it back on the table, climbing on the sofa and curling up next to him. “It’s not like I splurge on useless stuff everyday, okay? Just…let’s enjoy this one, now that it’s only the two of us. Finally.”

He slowly put his arm around her, a little awkward at first. His eyes were still on the bottle, a troubled expression creasing his forehead.

“I’m going to get us glasses,” she said after a minute. She gently wriggled out from under his arm, going to the kitchen. She was wearing a T-shirt and shorts, and her hair was loose so it bounced when she took a step. He hadn’t realised quite how tall she was; her slender legs were more apparent in their length now, her skin supple and the warm colour of almond.

She came back with two juice glasses, tinted blue.

“You must forgive these unsophistications,” she said with a smirk. “I have no authority in the glassware department.”

Sundar cracked a smile, but it wavered. He watched her pour the scotch into both glasses, handing him one.

“Now remember,” she said, the way a teacher would warn a child, “you don’t just gulp this stuff down like a brute. You’re supposed to take in the aroma, nice and slow. Like this—“ She rolled the glass in her hand, bringing her nose very close to the glass. She smiled at how absurd it must have looked.

“I even did some research. They say that with scotch, your nose does more of the tasting than your taste buds.”

Sundar brought the glass to his nose, and the strong, rich odour of scotch filled his nostrils, the sharpness of the flavour apparent in its very aroma. Definitely better than anything he’d tried before. He brought the glass to his lips, taking a sip. The liquid rolled off his tongue, leaving a strong aftertaste as it burned its way down his throat, warming his chest.

“Oh wow,” he muttered under his breath.

“You like it?” she said, meeting his eyes. He nodded.

A few seconds passed by in silence, and Sundar stared at the glass in his hand.

“What are you thinking?” Sandhya said. He was taken by surprise at the question, and he turned to look at her. She held his gaze with hers then, drawing him into the depths of her eyes like inescapable whirlpools. He couldn’t turn away from her if wanted to.

“That I should be anywhere else,” he rasped. “Anywhere but here, with you.”

“I know, isn’t it exciting? People would be shocked to see us do this. It’s like, so beyond them and their precious moral codes. It’s perfect.”

Sundar shook his head. “No, they’re right. What we’re doing is wrong, Sandhya. It’s just plain wrong. Just because no one knows about this doesn’t change the fact that it’s morally repugnant.”

“Oooh,” Sandhya cooed, biting her lip. She placed a finger on his chest. “I like it when you use big words.”

“Sandhya—“

“Sundar,” she said, matching his tone playfully. “Look, okay? Everyone has something they want. We have feelings, weaknesses. That’s just human, baby. I want you for myself, and I know you want me, too. Why are you denying yourself?”

“That doesn’t mean we can act on every little urge we feel.”

She smiled. “Of course not. It has to be mutual. I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t think you liked me. But I knew that you did, and it’s these stupid morals you people desperately cling to that stopped you from doing anything about it.” Sandhya shrugged. “So I took the initiative.”

Sundar snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. “What makes us different from animals, then?” he muttered under his breath.

“Why should we be?” Sandhya sat up straighter, moving closer so their bodies touched. “I mean, sure, we’re a bit smarter than them, maybe. But why should we pretend we’re so different, so superior that we can’t have the same carnal needs they do? What’s the point of that? Do you give you satisfaction to believe you’re above all that?”

“That’s the point of being civilised, Sandhya,” he said, but his own words felt hollow. He was an echo chamber throwing back a voice someone else had spoken in, the potency of the words diminishing with each repetition of them. But he couldn’t help himself. “We’d drown in anarchy if people didn’t control themselves.”

Sandhya looked at him at him pitifully, a shadow of disdain crossing her features.

“Do you honestly care what other people think of infidelity? If I approached them, if I could give them the assurance that not another soul would find out about it, do you think the college peon or most of the male lecturers would turn me down? Or even some of my uncles? I’ve seen the way they stare at my boobs when they think I’m not looking. It’s fucking disgusting. And who knows what goes on in our dear principal’s head when he’s watching girls my age in tights and tank tops on stage on College Day?”

Sundar stared at her, more than a little disturbed by what she’d said. Far from providing him comfort, her words served to make him feel part of a depraved culture of lechers and sinful voyeurs.

“Sandhya,” he stumbled with the words, grasping for something to say that didn’t sound like a tokenism. “I didn’t realise—“

“And you don’t have to,” she whispered. Her legs unravelled from beneath her, stretching out before him and gently resting on his lap. “I already told you. There’s nothing wrong in feeling something. You can’t help it. But isn’t it a pointless deprivation of the body to hold yourself back when it’s not affecting anyone? Tell me, Sundar, how long have you known I liked you?”

“For quite some time,” he admitted, looking away from her. “Almost since the second year began.” The scotch tasted bitter in his mouth, wholly unpalatable. He felt the glass warming in his hand.

“And yet we never quite addressed the issue until I forced our little…encounter that day,” Sandhya said, sipping from her glass. “Wouldn’t it have been so much easier, so much less effort wasted on reaching an inevitable outcome? Not to mention all the time we could have spent together instead of that needless dithering.”

She shifted her legs slightly, but not moving them from their place. Sundar felt something stirring in his trousers. His back stiffened.

“Everyone’s a saint until you read their mind, Sundar,” she said, her lips easing into a contented smirk. “The only difference between me and them is I’m not in denial about it.”

She placed her glass on the table and swung her legs to either side of him, folding them as she sat on his lap.

“You’re here right now, aren’t you? It’s just the two of us, Sundar. Don’t think about anything else. Just…be with me.”

He raised the glass of scotch to his lips, taking a long sip of the liquid, feeling the raw alcohol burn a track down his gullet, a bloom of warmth in his chest. She teased the glass out of his hand, setting it aside. Sandhya moved forward, and brought her lips to his.

*

“Here’s the script. Just go through it while I sort this issue out, okay? I’ll be back in a second.”

Vimala handed Faizal a copy of the script. He could tell it was well-used from the dog-eared edges and small scribbled notes next to the printed text. He looked around him, eyes panning across the cameraman, director, the two actors. They were shooting on the terrace of a small apartment building, the parapet walls lined with bright green potted plants. He spotted Prakash talking to the guys from Dion Productions, Surya and Nandan. Faizal didn’t know what to think of those two. They seemed nice enough when Vimala introduced him to them; they were accommodating a stranger on their shooting set, after all. But what really can 10 seconds of conversation tell you about a person?

He was feeling a little uncomfortable skipping work for this. Romesh wasn’t going to be pleasant with him when he did show up. Besides, it wasn’t even as if he knew anyone here besides Vim and Prakash. He was that one random dude who just happened to be on the set who didn’t really have anything to do or anyone to talk to. Faizal brought his attention back to the scriot, and as he flipped through the pages, his eyes gliding over the words, he could overhear some of what Vimala was saying.

“You picked this time to start the shoot, didn’t you Prabhakar? You said this is when lighting is the most suitable. How can you just say that? Okay, so if we do wait past lunch and you change your mind about the light, what are we going to do then? There’s no guarantee, Prabhakar. You can’t just expect us to call all the crew members and have them wait half a day to get any work started.”

Faizal sensed movement from the corner of his eye, and peered down from the terrace wall at the compound below. He saw four large, burly men exit a Scorpio, walk up to the security guard to the apartments. He couldn’t hear them from up there, but he saw that they were talking to the man. The guard was motioning towards the top of the building. The men nodded, heading for the staircase inside.

Nandan come up to Vimala, said something softly as he drew her away from the guy she was talking to.

“That guy has an ego the size of a planet, Vimala,” he said, as they both walked in Faizal’s direction. “I know, he’s hard to work with. He does this sort of thing all the time. But trust me, he’ll get us results.”

“Nandan, I want good cinematography in this series more than anyone here. I mean, it’s my script. But it’s also my money funding this damn pilot and I can’t waste any time on this perfect lighting bullshit. Do you know how much that camera costs?”

“I rented it, actually.”

Vimala looked flustered for a moment. “Yeah, exactly,” she said hastily. “So you know how painful it is to pay that kind of money and have the damn thing sit around for like five hours totally unused. We’ve already burned through a quarter of our budget and we haven’t even started filming yet.”

Nandan nodded, running his fingers across his jaw as he bit his lip. “Yeah, I get it. Of course I get it. But look, okay? We’ll need to humour this guy. Maybe not every time, but especially now, with the project so new. I don’t need anyone getting into fights and leaving the show. Yeah? So please, Vimala, however hard it might be for you, just don’t shout at the guy. Cool?”

Vimala crossed her arms, her eyes rolling in barely suppressed anger.

“Got it.”

Nandan nodded appreciatively, heading back towards Prakash. Vimala strode up to Faizal and sat in the chair next to him. Her eyes were still on the cinematographer, her nostils flaring.

“Fucking prick,” she said under her breath.

“Cinematographer troubles?” Faizal said with half a smile. “Akash sometimes tells me what a pain they are to work with.”

“The guy refuses to shoot anything until it’s like 3 or something. This isn’t some fucking Stanley Kubrick movie, we’ll never finish this pilot if he wastes time like this.”

“Wait, did you pay for all of this?” Faizal asked. “Did you fund the pilot by yourself?”

Vimala didn’t reply for several seconds, staring at something in the distance with a frown, biting her thumbnail.

Then she lowered her hand, released a breath through her nose. “Yeah. Still don’t know if it was a mistake, but yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me yesterday? Vim, that’s not…I mean, are you sure that’s okay? It doesn’t sound like these Dion guys—“

“It’s done, okay? They’ve cashed the cheque, rented all this shit. Nothing I can do about it now except hope.”

Faizal swallowed, looked away. His eyes travelled down to the compound, first at the security guard, then the Scorpio still parked next to the gate.

“Hey, Vimala,” he said, swinging to face her. “Is someone else supposed to be here for the shoot?”

She frowned. “What? No, this is everyone who’s supposed to be at the shoot. What are you talking about?”

Faizal’s scowl deepened. “A bunch of guys got out of that car over there. They didn’t look like they had anything to do with your show, but I saw that guard send them upstairs. I mean, I might be wrong, but—“

The door to the terrace swung open, slamming against the wall. Everyone’s heads swung in that direction, startled. The four men Faizal had seen get out of the Scorpio stepped through the doorway. The last one among them was carrying four large wooden sticks like clubs.

Surya stared at them in shock for a moment, frozen, then moved forward to stop them. The man in front shoved Surya to the ground, startled cries rising from the filming crew. Without sparing him even a glance, the thug walked to the film camera, grabbing it by the tripod.

“No!” Vimala screamed, running forward. A hand appeared out of nowhere, striking her cheek and sending her sprawling. She saw him raise the heavy camera in the air like a hammer, bringing it down with more force than she believed possible. It exploded, shards of plastic and glass flying.

Vimala’s left ear rang, all other sounds drowned out as she lay on the floor in a daze. Her vision was clouding, going in and out of focus. She tasted blood.

The last man tossed clubs into the others’ hands, and they spread out across the terrace. The crew recoiled from their path, huddling together in a corner, watching in horror. The thugs toppled the lighting equipment, smashing the bulbs and tearing the umbrellas. They went to a table littered with random electronics, lenses and wires, tossing them to the ground and crushing them underfoot.

“Sir, please,” Nandan said, inching forward fearfully. “Please, I beg you, stop! Why are you doing this? Please, not the hard drives—FUCK!” He ran impulsively forward, but before he realised what he’d done, the thug slammed his foot into Nandan’s chest. There was a faint cracking sound, and Nandan screamed, collapsing to the ground. He writhed on the floor, grimacing and gasping for air as Surya frantically pulled him away.

Vimala realised Faizal had helped her up onto a chair, and was trying to dab the blood trickling from her mouth. She could feel swelling in the left side of her face, the flesh aching and growing stiff. She watched silently as the men picked apart her shooting set, destroying the equipment she’d rented under heavy wooden clubs and thick soled-shoes. Pieces of camera and lightbulb lay scattered like rubble after a bomb had dropped. Thick vapours rose in noxious white coils from the broken lights, and the lithium batteries had swollen and burst, flaming as the outer surface melted and curled up. A migraine was splitting Vimala’s skull, and she closed her eyes, trying to make herself numb.

The man who’d entered first surveyed the set, checking to see if there was anything he hadn’t smashed to pieces yet. Satisfied, he walked toward the crowd, bunched up in a corner, trying to move back further as he approached. One man tried to bolt for the door, but a thug standing nearby made to lunge forward, slamming his foot on the ground in warning. He glared at the man as he stopped in his tracks, stepping back to the parapet wall.

The first thug let the club swing limply in his hand as he went towards Surya. He stopped at where the shattered remains of the camera lay, placed his foot on the largest piece, crushing it without so much as looking down. Surya was bent over Nandan, trying to calm him and lie him down flat when he saw the man approach, and stood shakily. His lips were trembling, nose inflamed and eyes glistening as he struggled to keep a modicum of composure. He wiped his eyes hastily.

“Kaanta,” Surya said shakily, “what do you want?” His voice was barely audible.

The man shrugged, frowning as if the question didn’t make sense. “Me? Why would I want anything?”

He came closer, and Surya tried to step back, but the man placed a hand on his shoulder. Gentle, yet firm. He smiled. “But next time Rajanna gives you a call, maybe you’ll answer it.”

The Generation Gap: Episode 6

Sandhya peered through the glass window into the hospital room. Dr. Gurumurthy’s back was to her, slightly hunched as he sat next to Anita’s bed. They were talking, but Sandhya couldn’t hear what they were saying to each other.

Probably better that way. I don’t think I want to hear what she’s saying about me after what happened.

It had felt like she’d been standing there for hours, waiting for the doctor to leave the room so she could speak to him.

Sandhya sighed, leaning back against the wall next to the door. When Dr. Gurumurthy had told her she couldn’t see her mother, she’d been outraged. Save for her aunt Usha, who else was there to take care of Anita? She’d had all of 4 people visit her in the hospital other than Sandhya and Usha. No one cared about her, no one offered to help. Anita didn’t have anybody. To be sure, Sandhya felt foolish having acted the way she did. Disgusted, even. Her mind ran through images of her grabbing Anita by her shoulders and shaking her till she burst into tears.

Sandhya realised she was clenching her teeth, and released a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. She took another perfunctory look inside the room, expecting to see the doctor’s back, unmoved after all this time. She jerked forward when she saw he’d gotten to his feet, nodding as he said something to her mother. As he turned around, Sandhya moved away from the window, sitting in one of the waiting chairs near the door. The door swung open, and her head shot up to look at the man. He regarded her with a strange, almost suspicious look, as if expecting an outburst from her any moment now. Just the thought of it made Sandhya’s blood boil.

Stop it. You did this to yourself. It’s your mistake, and your responsibility to fix it.

She rose, came up to him.

“Doctor, how is she? I want to see her.”

He seemed to be weighing his answer before speaking. ”I think it’s best if we give both of you some time. No doubt this whole situation weighs heavily on the two of you. You especially. Why don’t you go home, rest for a few days? Your mother’s not going anywhere, nor her memories. I’ll call you when I think both of you are ready. She can be discharged soon.”

“Doctor, please. I know last time I…look, I understand what I did was extremely stupid. I know it’s wrong that I acted that way. I shouldn’t have. I know that, doctor. Please. I just want to see her, that’s all I want, I swear.” Her voice was plaintive, almost begging.

Gurumurthy’s face was folded in weary exasperation, drained of will to argue, helpless to refuse her.

“Sandhya,” he said, his voice grating, “she needs time. You want her back to normal, of course you do, but it’s just not that simple. And I can’t have you acting out on her like that again. You’re distraught. Even now it would be difficult for you to think clearly. It’s only human.”

He began walking toward his office.

“I know you think that, doctor,” Sandhya said, following him. “But I swear to you, I can handle myself. This time I can. I know it. Can’t you give me a chance, just once, to prove it?”

Gurumurthy’s hand reached forward to grip the doorknob on his office door. He stood there for a moment, head declined, exhaling audibly. Then they went inside.

As he settled in his chair, Sandhya pulled up hers, sitting down.

“Where’s your aunt?” he said, resting his elbows on his desk.

“She dropped me here,” she said. “There was some work she had to attend to. Urgently.”

He frowned. “She isn’t coming?”

“Not now. In the evening, maybe. I don’t know. You should ask her.”

Something caught Dr. Gurumurthy’s attention then, and his eyes settled on the large handbag on Sandhya’s lap.

“What’s in there?” he asked. “Did you bring something for your mother?”

“A photo album,” she smiled sadly. “Memories. I thought bringing some pictures would help the…process.”

“Can I see it?” he asked. Her eyes were level with his, jaw tightening as she watched him, her expression unchanged. He didn’t react, but whether for lack of noticing or caring she couldn’t tell. Finally she nodded, handing him the thick book.

He leafed through the pages, though it was clear he was paying little attention to the pictures themselves.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Sandhya said. “How else are we supposed to get her back to normal?”

He stopped for a second, looking at her. “Even so, Sandhya, overloading someone with information at one go will only serve to stress them out further. It’s not what we want, trust me. She needs to be fed information gradually over time. Like physiotherapy for people recovering from accidents. Anything too sudden and you might end up doing more harm than good.”

“It’s one photo album,” she said. “I don’t see how that could be an overload.”

“It varies from patient to patient. From case to case. There have been times when showing someone a single photo has caused them to relapse into shock.

“I know that’s not the reason you don’t want me to go in there. I know you’re trying to come up with excuses for not letting me see my mother.”

Gurumurthy’s fingers pressed against the bridge of his nose, and he closed his eyes, running his hands across his forehead.

“What do you want me to say?” he said, sitting up straight. “Sandhya, it’s just not safe to go in there right now. I don’t know why you can’t see that. It’s for your mother’s own good. Trust me, I’m doing what’s best for her.”

“Are you, though?”

He looked up at her, fixing her with a shocked, wary gaze. His frown deepened. “Excuse me?”

“How do I know what you’re doing is in my mother’s best interest?” Sandhya felt her vision tunnelling, and all she could see was the doctor sitting in front of her. Her heartbeat was racing, but she couldn’t feel it. She’d draped herself in a veneer of calm she didn’t know was around her.

“Sandhya, I’m not sure what you’re trying to get at,” Gurumurthy said, leaning forward. She could sense the restraint in his voice, see the skin tightening around his eyes, the corners of his mouth. “I’m a doctor. You realise that, don’t you? It’s my duty—my only duty—here at this hospital. All I care about is that your mother gets better so she can go back home with you.”

“Of course, doctor,” Sandhya said. “I know that. She has to get better and be discharged. How else will you keep your accreditation? How else will this hospital maintain its current ranking? No, of course I know my mother will be discharged…eventually.”

Gurumurthy’s scowl deepened. “So what are these accusations supposed to mean?”

Sandhya cocked her head, feigning confusion. “Accusations? No, no, of course not. I’m merely suggesting.”

“Suggesting what?” he said through gritted teeth.

“Given the delicacy of my mother’s condition, you recommended that she have her own room rather than stay in a ward with other patients. She has no communicable diseases, so your professional opinion is all the justification you have to put her there. The individual rooms have a 4-day fixed price, beyond which you bill a surcharge for every extra day spent there. This is her 4th day in the hospital, and even though you said time is critical in her recovery, you’re still delaying letting her meet her closest family member.” She paused for a moment, sitting back to let Gurumurthy stew over her words. “One can only imagine why.”

The doctor looked incredulous. His nostrils flared, a look of outrage across his features.

“Is this about money?” he said, his words full of contempt, disgust.

“I don’t know,” she said, looking into the hollow spaces that were his eyes. “Is it?”

Sandhya felt the doctor’s cold, hard glare on her back as she pushed the door open, stepping into the room. Anita’s head turned, and immediately she tried to retreat, squirming in her bed, trying to force herself upright. Sandhya felt as though a serrated knife had been plunged into her gut, twisting as her eyes met her mother’s. Don’t you remember me? she wanted to cry out. How could you have forgotten. It’s not fair, it’s not—

Sandhya’s nails dug into her palms as she clenched her fists. Enough. Enough of this self-pity. Stop feeling bad for yourself. You’re not the one who almost died in an accident. You’re not the one who saw Appa die two feet in front of you. Just fucking stop it.

She sat down on the chair next to the bed. Anita was staring at the ceiling, deliberately avoiding meeting Sandhya’s gaze. Her lip was quivering.

“Hi Ma,” Sandhya said softly.

Anita said nothing. Her eyes were straining to focus on the ceiling fan, and Sandhya could see the muscles pulling taut in her neck.

“I’m your daughter, Ma. Sandhya Janardhan. Did you know that?” Sandhya forced her voice to sound calm, as soft as she could manage.

“Please don’t shout at me again,” Anita said after a few moments. “I can’t take it. Please.”

“I won’t,” Sandhya said, a lump in her throat. Guilt cloaked her senses like a coarse, sodden blanket.

Reluctantly, Anita shifted her head on the pillow, turning to face her. There was apprehension in her face, and a squirming discomfort. I imagine I’d be no different. Looking at a girl who calls you her mother yet not having a single memory of her.

“You look familiar,” Anita said.

“I do?” Sandhya frowned.

Her mother nodded. “Dr. Gurumurthy told me about you. And Usha. It’s like…I remember fragments of my old life. The doctor said it will all come back to me eventually. But…” She turned away from her.

“But?” Sandhya prodded.

Anita shook her head. “I don’t know. It makes it harder to think. That’s all.”

Sandhya gazed at her mother for a few long moments, then bent to take the photo album out of her bag. Anita turned to look at what she’d brought.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“An album,” Sandhya said, placing it on her mother’s lap. “I was hoping maybe a light will flicker on somewhere in there when you see these.”

Anita didn’t respond to Sandhya’s feeble attempt at humour, but she smiled wearily. Her bed was still at wide angle, and she pressed a button that slowly brought her more upright. She opened to the first page of the album.

“Remember this?” Sandhya said, pointing to the first photograph. “We’d taken Usha aunty and Prabhu uncle on a picnic to Nandi Hills. Appa wasn’t free that day, and you were angry with him, so you just decided we should all go without him.” She had a small smile on her face as she spoke.

“I did that?” Anita said, taken aback.

“Yep,” she said. “You’re more badass than you give yourself credit for.”

“When was this?”

“Looks about 6 years ago. Yeah, see? There’s the date.”

Anita bent forward, studying the photos intently, and Sandhya watched her in silence. Suddenly she stopped, pointing at one of them.

“Wait, I think I remember this one. Vaguely.”

Sandhya snorted. “I think Prabhu uncle had handed me a pair of binoculars or something and I dropped and broke it, so you shouted at me. I was sulking all the way up the hill, and then you shouted at me for not smiling for the pictures.” Anita chuckled softly.

“Was anyone in a good mood that day?” she asked.

“Hardly,” Sandhya said with a snicker. “Aunty and uncle were getting kind of sick of us by lunchtime, and we ended up going home after that.”

Anita was engrossed in the photo album now. As if she were trying to memorise every last detail, she paid arduous attention to each and every photo in the album. Two pages later, Sandhya saw the photos and perked up.

“Oh, this day was so much fun,” she said. “It was that House of Illusions or whatever. We both just thought it was a weird looking room, but then Appa showed us this photo and we both went nuts doing poses. Appa felt so smart explaining how it works, big scientist that he was.”

Anita’s eyes roved across the pictures, and were pulled to one with all three of them in it.

“That’s him?” she said, a little softly.

“Yeah,” Sandhya said. She felt her throat grow dry. “That’s Appa.”

She seemed to be trapped in some sort of tunnel, not moving her eyes from that picture, frozen in time and space.

“You remember the hall of mirrors in this place?” Sandhya said abruptly, feigning an accidental touch with her mother’s hand as she reached to turn the page. “You thought you were going to be trapped in there forever and you started freaking out and shouting. Those guys had to escort you out of there.” She tried to chuckle, but it sounded hollow, forced, which it certainly was.

Anita had fallen silent. She wasn’t looking at the photos, even though her eyes were fixed in the same place they’d been all this time. Sandhya gently slid the album out from her fingers, closing it. Her mother still hadn’t moved, and it was as if she was staring off into some vast space, eyes unfocussed.

“Ma,” Sandhya said. When she didn’t respond, she lightly shook Anita’s arm. “Ma,” she said louder.

“Hmm?” Her mother seemed to be drawn out of a stupor, her confused gaze slowly coming to focus on Sandhya’s face.

“I…I-I’m sorry, what happened? Did I say something?” The words came haltingly, unsure and almost fearful.

“No,” Sandhya said slowly, regarding her mother with a wary gaze. “No, you didn’t say anything.” You weren’t doing anything.

After a pause, she said, “Ma, what’s wrong?”

Anita’s brow crinkled. “What can I say? I look at photos of myself from 5 or 6 years ago and don’t remember ever having taken them. I look at photos of my husband and don’t even know who he is. I’m speaking to my own daughter and it’s as though I’m meeting her for the first time. There are these gaps in my memory that I know shouldn’t be there, because they’re the most obvious things I ought to know.”

“Ma…” Sandhya said in a half a whisper, laying her hand on Anita’s leg. “The doctor has—“

“I know what he said…Sandhya, isn’t it?” She looked at her daughter with large, distressed eyes. “You see? I barely managed to recall your name just now. What kind of person does that make me? And even if my memories do return, how do I know it’s all back? How do I know what I’ve forgotten if I don’t even know what they are?”

Sandhya gave Anita’s leg a gentle squeeze. “Isn’t that what I’m here for, Ma? Dr. Gurumurthy said your close family members can help you regain your memories more quickly. I can help you out, Ma, can’t I?”

“And what about the memories that have nothing to do with you?” Anita said, her voice turned sour. “The ones you’re not in, or before you were even born. If those are missing, how would I even know?”

Sandhya didn’t say anything. She had no reply to that. All she could do was look into her mother’s eyes and watch in silence. What good would empathy do in this situation? No, all Sandhya could offer her ailing mother some comfort, a little warmth, perhaps. As for answers…

“May I see the rest of that?”

Anita held out her hand near where Sandhya had kept the album on her lap. She wore a wan smile, one that Sandhya thought was of empty reconciliation, or the beginnings of it.

You’ll heal from this yet, Ma.

Sandhya handed the album to her mother, then moved her chair closer so they could look at it together.

*

The faint scratching sound of pen nibs across paper was the only sound in the silence of Kiran’s room, disturbed only by someone turning the page on their notebook. Kalpana sat hunched over her book next to Gaurav, her eyes focussed on the equation she was solving, occasionally flitting to the exercise book. The room was steeped in an atmosphere of unnaturally deep concentration, the competitive fervour unspoken but palpable. They’d been sitting that way for close to half an hour now, and Kalpana’s back was starting to stiffen, her hands aching with the intensity of her writing.

“And…done,” Surabhi said, underlining her last answer with smug finality. “Ha! Catch up, slowpokes.” She chuckled, but Kalpana got the impression she was only half joking.

“I just started the last one,” Kiran said. “Damn, you’re fast.”

“I wonder why, though,” Surabhi said, closing her book and taking a sip of water. “Maybe I do it with more concentration, I guess.” She rose and walked out of the room.

Kalpana involuntarily glanced over at Gaurav, who wore a muted expression of disdain as he continued writing. She couldn’t help but smile.

It was another ten minutes before everyone was done with the exercise, setting their books down in exhaustion. Like watching a room full of cats waking up, they stretched, sitting up straight and cracking knuckles and necks.

“The exam’s only three hours long, you do know that, right?”

Kalpana looked up to see Surabhi standing at the door, not looking up from her phone as she typed.

“I know, Su,” Lakshmi said, looking dismayed. She shook her head in disappointment. “I’m trying, you know? I go back home and study for an hour, too. It’s just…I’m not going to pass these exams without you, man.”

“Seriously, what’s wrong with you?” Surabhi said, finally deigning to offer her a critical stare. “We’ve been doing this every year. I don’t get it, Lakshmi, honestly. You act so stupid, sometimes.”

Lakshmi looked cowed, ready to sink into the floor if she could have. Surabhi shook her head in exasperation, returning to her phone.

“I’m…I’m sorry, Su,” Lakshmi muttered, hardly audible, her face shrunken wretchedly.

“Mm.”

Kalpana was silent as she watched this exchange. She watched Lakshmi, hoping she’ll say something, anything back at her. But the girl was just staring in frustration at her maths textbook. Her eyes drifted to Surabhi, who hadn’t moved from where she stood. Kalpana felt her heart beating faster, felt the rush of blood in her temples, her skin tingling. She swallowed.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to use your phone here,” Kalpana said. She felt her heart hammering against her ribs now.

“What?” Surabhi said, glancing at her for barely a moment.

“You told me we weren’t supposed to use our phones when we were here for the group study.”

Surabhi frowned in amusement. “Yeah, but I was done more than ten minutes ago, right? I thought we were all going for lunch after this.”

“Yeah, but the rest of us got done just now,” Kalpana said. She felt her throat drying up. “The group study was still in session.”

Surabhi gave a confused chuckle. “Okay? What’s your point?”

Kalpana had to swallow again. “If your rules matter so little, why were you such a condescending bitch to me that first day?”

Surabhi’s face twisted in shock, as if she’d just been slapped. “What the fuck? What are you even talking about?”

“Oh, but it wasn’t just that first day, was it?” Kalpana said. She didn’t feel her heartbeat anymore, and her fear was gone. Now she only felt anger. “Every single day since then you’ve been a snarky, nasty, condescending little shit to the rest of us, and why? Because you can solve a few maths problems better than us?”

“Kalpana,” Kiran said, eyes wide, “dude, what—“

“Shut up, Kiran,” Surabhi said, silencing him with a look. She rounded on Kalpana like a predator. “Who the fuck are you to say those things about me, you bitch? You think you’re so good at maths? Why are you even here then?”

“Because I thought it would be useful!” Kalpana’s voice was rising. “How was I supposed to know I’d have assholes like you in the group? You shout at Kiran, you treat your best friend worse than the shit under your shoe, and you dictate terms to people without even asking them if they want it!”

“Lakshmi,” Gaurav said, startling her. She looked like a frightened rabbit on the verge of tears. “Why do you take shit from her? Why do you submit to her bullshit like that? Do you even want to be friends with her?”

Lakshmi’s lips were trembling, and she was groping for words. “I…I mean, yeah, of course I want to be—“

“This girl wouldn’t even pass her exams if I didn’t help her study like some fucking mom. Who would take charge of this whole thing if not for me? Would you do it? We had to explain integration like 5 times to you before you solved even one question.”

“Take charge?” Gaurav was incredulous. “Lady, this is a group study for board exams, not the Communist Party of China. Jesus fucking Christ, how self-important are you?”

“Go make your own group study then, no?” Surabhi said. “What are you suffering under my hegemony for? You didn’t pay to get tuition lessons from me, did you? Fuck off, then. Study by yourselves.”

Kalpana turned to Gaurav. “I think for once I agree with her,” she said in a surprised tone. She grabbed her bag, stuffing her books inside and getting to her feet. She felt a rush of relief when she saw Gaurav getting up as well.

“Kalpana,” Kiran said, “come on, man, don’t be like this. Please. Let’s just go for lunch and forget all…this ever happened.”

“I think we both know that won’t be possible, Kiran,” Kalpana said with a wan smile. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”

“Let them go, man,” Surabhi said, rolling her eyes. “Easier for us to not have to deal with some fucking human rights activists.”

Kalpana’s gaze lingered on Lakshmi as she swung her backpack on.

Surabhi leaned forward, eyes dramatically wide. “You know what I do with her after group study? I take her into the dungeon below my house and torture and mutilate her. Why don’t you put that up on your Humans of Bangalore blog? My confession.”

Kalpana smirked. “Is that what you do with your boyfriend, too? Maybe that’s why Supreeth has no balls.”

She pushed past a stunned Surabhi, grabbing Gaurav’s and her phone, slamming the door on her way out. Gaurav appeared next to her. He didn’t say anything for some time, and she was grateful for that.

After a few minutes of walking in silence, he said, “Hey, you want to go to my place and chill out for a bit? My parents aren’t home.”

“Would it matter if they were?” Kalpana said, narrowing her eyes in feigned suspicion.

Gaurav smirked. “Yeah, probably not. But you never know, huh?”

He laughed as she smacked his head. “Lead the way, Casanova.”

The afternoon sun was comfortably warm as they sat bathed in its light on the roof.

“Are you sure there was nothing else to eat in your house except plain upma?” Kalpana said, taking another spoonful in her mouth.

“Once I figure out how to cook, I’ll make you a seven-course meal. Soup, starters, even masala papad.”

“Shit, masala papad? You sure that’s not too much for you to handle?”

“I know,” Gaurav said, shrugging. “What can I say? I relish the challenge.”

“You must really have relished putting some upma in a microwave, then.” He chuckled at that, putting his arm around her. She moved a little closer to him, her leg tingling faintly when it touched his.

“Listen, about that whole thing back there—“ he started.

“Yeah, forget about it. Not exactly itching to talk about it.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” he said. “I just thought—I mean…” She looked up at him with a small frown.

“I just thought it was kind of hot,” he said. “The way you stood up to her. I didn’t expect you to say anything.”

Kalpana felt a flutter in her chest, swallowed to keep her voice steady. “Hot, huh? Is that what you thought I was?” She felt his arm stiffen slightly.

“I mean—“ he swallowed visibly, eyes darting in front of him as if he were looking for a way to escape. “Um, no, not like that, it’s…no, I mean it was kind of hot, but I didn’t mean to sound…ah, fuck.”

She was forcing herself to keep from smiling, looking up at his slowly reddening face.

“Only kind of hot?”

He turned to look at her, and she couldn’t stop her smile this time. She held the hand he’d draped around her closer, looking into his eyes. Their faces were inches from each other. She could feel her breathing growing heavy, was acutely aware of her heartbeat, the anxiety of anticipation resurfacing.

He moved forward, kissing her softly. His lips lingered on hers for several seconds, and she felt their warmth, their taste more acutely than anything else. The rush of colour to her face, of this strange storm of sensations was making her heady and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. By the time he pulled away, it had felt like an interminably long, yet impossibly short moment had passed between them. The only thing that was certain was she wanted more of it.

He looked at her without saying anything for a moment, and she wondered what he was thinking. Then he smiled.

“No. Not just kind of.”

The Generation Gap: Episode 5

The hospital was steeped in a cavernous, frigid silence. The few sounds — nurses and doctors hurrying through corridors in their stiff, dire gaits, the rattle of medical equipment, the low, almost inaudible humming of old tubelights placed between every door — seemed to echo around the walls like restless ghosts.

Sandhya could hear every sound distinctly, yet her mind did not — could not — focus on any of them. It was just the way hospitals sounded, she’d decided. The air she breathed was chemical, and though she didn’t recognise the smell, it felt openly hostile to her. Like the hospital was trying to sterilise itself of unwanted visitors.

Her aunt, sitting next to her, shifted slightly in her seat. She had her purse on her lap, one leg bouncing compulsively for the last five minutes. Sandhya gritted her teeth, her tolerance slowly stretching thinner with every second that ticked by on the clock. She wanted to grab that infernal bag and throw it across the hall. Empty its contents all over the floor. At least she’d be spared of this torture.

A spasm of guilt seized her. Am I seriously thinking about this? After everything that’s happened. What’s wrong with me? Why am I not thinking of my own mother?

She shut her eyes tightly, her head slipping forward.

Usha put her arm around Sandhya. “Sandhu,” she said softly, her voice sounding strained. “Maybe you should get some sleep. I can ask the nurse if there’s somewhere—“

“No,” Sandhya said. She wondered for a moment if she’d been too harsh in replying so quickly. “I want to stay here. I want to see her.” Her eyes were drooping, eyelids heavy, but she was going to wait, regardless of how long it would take.

Usha drew her close, and for a brief moment, Sandhya was grateful for the warmth, the feeling of a familiar touch.

She went ramrod straight when she heard the sound of footsteps coming down the corridor. Usha gave her a strange glance, but understood. Sandhya had a sick feeling in her stomach as she saw the doctor approaching them, moving with purpose. A purpose, she felt, which he was fulfilling not out of his own inclination but as a duty.

He stopped in front of them. “Mrs. Usha, Sandhya,” he addressed them with a careful, gentle tone. “Will you please follow me? To my office.”

He led them back the way he came, they went through more cold, sickeningly pristine hallways until he stopped at a door with a label that read, ‘Dr. J. S. Gurumurthy’. The office room was warmer, somehow. Perhaps it was because of the wood. Dr. Gurumurthy sat at his wide desk, gesturing for the two of them to do the same.

“Doctor, how’s Anita doing?” Usha asked, sitting on the edge of her chair. “Is she going to be fine?”

“Before I get into any more detail,” the doctor said, laying his hands down on the table, “I just want to tell you that Anita’s physically stable. As for her mental state, I can tell you that she’ll be able to recover to a large extent. And by that I mean she’ll be able to lead a mosty normal, stable life with her mental faculties intact. But she’s still very vulnerable.”

“Mostly normal…?” Usha said, her eyes full of quiet dread.

Gurumurthy’s face was grave as he began speaking. “Anita’s gone into a state of shock. After she saw her husband in that…situation, she wasn’t able to handle the emotional trauma. Basically, certain parts of her brain have shut down to prevent any permanent harm occurring to them. Parts mostly associated with memory. She still has the image of the accident lodged somewhere deep in her mind, but to protect her, her own brain has cut off access to it. This is one of the more severe cases we’ve treated. It’s hard to say at this point, but my best guess is that it’ll be at least three months before she’s returned to normal again.”

“When can we see her?” Sandhya said abruptly, her eyes fixing on the doctor’s. There was a sad, almost pitiful softness in his gaze, one that infuriated her and filled her with despair in equal measure.

“Yes, about that,” he said, swallowing once. “Seeing the two of you will be good for Anita, considering how close you both are to her. The thing is, her brain didn’t just cut off access to the image of—“

He stopped himself, reconsidered. ”It didn’t just cut off access to her memory of that incident. It’s put her in this state of temporary amnesia. She still probably has all her old memories in there, but at the moment, she can’t access them.”

Gurumurthy paused, regarding them both with a searching, concerned gaze. He laced his fingers in front of him on the table.

“It’s possible that she’s forgotten your names and your faces, and who you are. But it’s reversible. By gently reintroducing parts of her old life back to her, we should be able to gradually coax her memory back to its normal state. The only reason I’m telling you this with so much care is because things will be much easier if both of you can be calm and positive around Anita. The more upset you appear, the more you appear afraid, the more you’ll trigger that trauma in her mind. Just go there, say your names and talk normally with her.”

Silence hung over them like a flickering lightbulb, almost breaking several times but never quite happening. Sandhya saw the doctor’s gaze shift to her, and she felt cornered.

“Sandhya,” he said in a low, paternal voice that made her shiver with unexpected comfort. “I know it won’t be easy to see your mother in this state. You’re 16, and losing your father so early…I can’t even imagine what you’re going through. But it’s doubly important that you of all people show composure in there. You need Anita to start associating you with positivity and pleasantness, because that’s how she’d feel about you under normal circumstances. You have to help her draw out those memories. Talk about a fond memory you have with her. Something both of you remember well. Anything that both of you did together—maybe a trip or something special you did together. That’s the only way she’ll be able to reform that connection.”

When he stopped talking, she looked up at him and saw that he was watching her, patiently waiting for her response, to see that she’d understood what he was asking of her. She nodded. In truth, she’d hardly heard a word he’d said. She just wanted to see her mother.

“I understand,” she said, but it seemed only she heard how hollow that sounded.

Dr. Gurumurthy led them to a door near where they’d been waiting all this time, his hand wrapping around the doorknob. But he didn’t turn it. He looked at them once more.

“Before we go inside, I need you to really internalise the gravity of Anita’s situation. A relapse at this point could mean all the work we’ve done will be for nothing. Not to mention risking permanent mental damage to her brain. You’re both certain you’ve understood everything I’ve told you so far?”

Sandhya fought the urge push the man aside and force her way inside. “Yes, doctor. Please, I just want to see her.” She made herself look up and meet his gaze.

He looked at her with sad eyes for a moment that seemed to stretch to an eternity. Nodding, the door swung open.

She was lying partially upright in a foldable bed next the window, a pale mint blanket covering her from feet to chest. Her hands rested at her sides, and she seemed to be looking out of the window, though Sandhya thought her eyes looked as though they were made out of glass. Empty.

A lump formed in her throat as she looked at this woman who so resembled her mother. But there was a vacancy within her that Sandhya saw. She wasn’t the same person.

Seeing that lorry collide with her husband two feet from where Anita had been standing would have been enough trauma by itself. It’s what she’d seen passing beneath the tyres that had sent her over the edge. The police had refused to show Sandhya the photos of the accident. She’d protested then, but as she approached her mother, she began to feel there would have been no greater folly.

She walked up to the bed, laying a hand gently on top of her mother’s. Anita’s hand felt feeble, sapped of warmth. Usha came up on the other side of the bed, sitting and stroking her sister’s head. Anita looked up at them, offered them a kindly smile.

“Hello,” she said. “Are you the new nurses? Dr. Gurumurthy told me Savita wasn’t able to come this week.”

It felt as though a hot knife had sunk itself into Sandhya’s gut, twisting as it dug deeper. She had to clench her jaw to stop the tears from flowing, and even then she wiped her eyes.

She managed a smile. “No. Ma, it’s us. I’m your daughter Sandhya. This is your sister, Usha.”

As she watched Anita’s uncomprehending eyes stare back at her in confusion, Sandhya kept repeating the doctor’s words in her head to keep herself from screaming. It’s temporary. This is only temporary.

Usha’s eyes were full of concern as she looked at Sandhya, then turned to her sister. “Hi Anita. My name’s Usha. Do you remember me?”

Anita frowned, and it was clear she was trying very hard to understand what was happening to her.

“Dr. Gurumurthy told me something like this,” she said, shutting her eyes tightly, then squinting at Usha. “So you’re my sister? And you’re…my daughter?”

“What else did the doctor tell you?” Usha asked in a gentle tone, coaxing but not putting any pressure.

“There was an accident, he told me,” Anita said. “That’s why I’m in the hospital. What happened, do you know?”

Sandhya felt breathless, and she was almost hyperventilating at this point. Appa is dead. Ma doesn’t even know who I am. She doesn’t even know he’s dead. How am I supposed to tell her? What am I going to do?

Before she could speak, Usha broke in. “Let’s discuss that later, okay? How are you feeling, Anita? Is there any pain?”

“Pain?” Anita frowned. “No, why would I be in pain?”

“Ma, I know this is hard for you,” Sandhya said, struggling to keep her voice level. “I know you’re probably confused about everything that’s going on. But just for one second…Ma, please try to think really hard. About us. Your family. I’m you daughter, Ma. Sandhya. Don’t you remember me? Don’t you remember Usha chikamma?”

Usha was about to say something when Dr. Gurumurthy moved closer.

“Sandhya,” he whispered, “calm down. This is normal—“

“This is not normal!” Sandhya snapped, spinning to fix the doctor a livid glare. She turned back to Anita who was watching them in alarm, gripping the sides of the bed uneasily.

“Ma,” Sandhya said, trying to force a smile despite the tears welling in her eyes, “you remember that time we’d gone to Mysore? To the Kaveri backwaters. Me, you and Appa. We parked our car there, laid a full picnic basket down and watched the river all day long.” With each word she spoke, Sandhya was coming undone, frantically wiping her tears so Anita wouldn’t see them, stammering like the words in her head weren’t reaching her voice. “You were too scared to swim, remember that? Appa and I went swimming and we sat on some rocks and you were too scared and we splashed so much water on you? How could you not remember that? And that temple. There was temple there, I remember it so well. Ma, please, how could you forget all of this?”

“I…I don’t know what…” Anita was on the verge of tears, her lip trembling, wet eyes looking helplessly at her, then at the doctor. Sandhya couldn’t tell if it was emotion in her eyes, or if it was fear. Shame cut into her heart like a knife, but there was nothing else to do. What if she lost her mother too? No, that she couldn’t abide.

“Sandhya, I think that’s enough,” Dr. Gurumurthy said softly, laying a hand on her shoulder.

Shrugging him off, Sandhya stood, grabbing her mother by her arms.

“Ma, you have to remember something, anything!” The desperation in her voice was palpable, bordering on hysteria. “Goddammit, Ma, he’s dead! Appa is dead and you’re all I have! Wake up from this shit you’re in and talk to me like my mother!” She was shaking Anita now, and the frail woman was crying and wailing at the same time. “Fuck! Amma, please! Please just tell me! Please! Ma—!“

She felt hands grab both her arms and yank them off her mother, and though she fought against them, she couldn’t free herself. She kicked and screamed, hot tears running down her cheeks as she struggled against the doctor and a nurse, but they managed to get her out of the room. Pulling herself free, she fell violently against the opposite wall, vomiting violently on the floor. Several nurses and hospital workers appeared in the corridor, horrified.

Usha hurried outside and gasped when she saw Sandhya collapsed on the floor.

“She doesn’t even know who I am,” Sandhya croaked between fits of sobbing. Her throat was hoarse and her hair a sweaty mess. “She doesn’t even know who I am.”

*

The signal turned green, and Prakash disengaged the handbrake, slowly accelerating the car forward amid a cacophony of honks from outside. The sounds of noisy vehicles sounded distant through the closed windows, and Vimala watched them pass her by emptily. She reached for the AC vent in front of her and closed it shut, rubbing her arms with her hands to warm them.

“You don’t need to worry so much, you know,” Prakash said, eyes on the road. “It’s a meeting with the production house guys, that’s all it is. I’ve pretty much sold your idea to them. They just want to talk to you once to see how involved you’ll be with this.”

“I know,” she said, almost in a whisper. Shaking her head, she raised her voice so he could hear. “I know. I’m not scared to talk to them per se, I’m just…” She rested her head back against the seat, releasing a sigh. “I need this, Prakash. For Sundar, Kalpana, my mom. Kalpana’s going to start college a year from now, and it’s not like the school she’s going to is cheap or anything. Sundar’s doing everything he can, publishing articles and all that, but he’s still an English Lit professor all the same. He tried investing, but he just doesn’t have a mind for money.”

Prakash didn’t say anything for a time. She saw him out of the corner of her eye, and couldn’t tell if he was glancing at her or the sideview mirror.

“What did he say?” he finally asked. “About you getting fired, I mean.”

“I haven’t told him yet.”

“What?” Prakash turned to look at her. “Why the hell not?”

“I don’t want him to worry.” Vimala sat up straight, facing Prakash. “He’s just going to tie himself into knots and blame himself for not doing more. He’s like that, you don’t know him.”

“He’s still your husband, Vimala. And the only earning member of the family right now.”

“Wow, thanks,” Vimala said. Her tone revealed hurt, but more than that, Prakash thought he sensed shame.

“Vimala, I didn’t—“

“No, it’s fine,” she said. “You’re being honest. The last thing I need now is to be deluded about my own situation.” She paused. “But look, if I sign this contract and we start shooting, I won’t have to give him bad news. I won’t lie, I’ll still tell him I got fired. But at least I can give him some good news with it, no?”

Prakash shrugged. “I suppose,” he said with a perfunctory nod. Vimala bit her lip, settling back in her seat. It was plain to see how unconvinced he was.

The car approached the gates to Loyola Commercial Complex, and Prakash slowly spun the steering wheel left, driving down the long incline into the basement parking area.

“So what are my inquisitors going to ask me about?” she said.

Prakash snorted, a dry smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “All these guys want to know is if you’re as good at being a show creator as you are a writer. They can’t afford too many ancillary staff, so all of us will have to take up multiple roles. They’re probably handling three or more projects like these right now. They’ll be up to their necks in work.”

He backed up into a parking space, and they both got out of the car, walking towards the lift.

“You just need to be confident with them. You’ve drafted the proposal, prepared the budget and written the script, all with barely any help from me. You know this project inside out. Show them you do.”

They got into the lift, watching the doors close in front of them.

“Confidence is literally two-thirds of the battle. You need them to understand that you’re the most stable, dependable person on this project. Which is important, since you’re the creator. You’re trying to assure them you’ve got this under control, even if you don’t.”

“What?”

“What I mean is, give them the comfort that if something goes wrong during the shoot, or when we’re trying to sell the damn thing, you’re capable enough to handle it. Get what I mean?”

“I guess.”

“Wrong answer.”

“I—yeah. Yeah, I get what you mean.”

“Say ‘absolutely’ next time. It gives the impression of certainty. If there’s anything this industry desperately needs, it’s certainty.”

Vimala chuckled. “Got it. Absolutely.”

Prakash put his arm around her shoulder, giving her a warm smile. “Loosen up. Make some jokes. Laugh. Just…be yourself. Okay?”

Vimala gave him a grateful smile, and though it wavered for a moment, she held it. “Thanks, Prakash. That…that really helped.”

The lift doors slowly opened, the two of them stepping out

“Relax,” he said. “They’re just two guys who want to do business. They need you as much as you need them.”

She had a wry smile. “I highly doubt that.”

The commercial complex was over fifty years old, as was evidenced by the 1960s-style architecture and lightly yellowed granite flooring. Dusty peg letter boards indicating different areas of the complex hung over their heads, like some relics of another time no one had bothered to replace. Prakash and Vimala walked past small clothing stores and travel agency offices and every kind of business establishment in between.

Swinging her bag strap onto her shoulder, Vimala looked around with a hint of distaste.

“This is where they have their office?” she said, trying to keep her tone from reflecting how she was feeling.

“Not fancy enough for you?” Prakash said, grinning. “They’re a small outfit. I’m surprised they even have an office.”

They were another two minutes in finding the place. The two of them looked up at the board that read, ‘Dion Productions’. Beneath that were two names, Surya Varma and Nandan Abhirami.

“This is our guy,” Prakash said, and turning to her, gestured for her to enter before him. She took a deep breath, exhaling through her mouth. Her eyes met his once more, and he gave her a reassuring smile. She held her bag a little closer to herself. Taking two steps forward, she was inside the office.

The office, she immediately noticed, looked totally different from the building that housed it. Like a lonely anachronism in that old complex, with modern furniture and decor, just stepping inside the office was like walking through a portal to some strange place. There was a squat two-seater couch by the door, and the wall right in front of her was plain except for a small, framed abstract painting. Through the open doorway in the wall, she saw a man inside sitting at his desk, laptop open as he spoke on the phone. She could only see the left side of his face, but she saw concern in his expression, even a little anxiety. His free hand was toying with a pen in his hand, pressing the button compulsively against his armrest.

The moment he saw them, he started, turning back to his call to conclude it. He pocketed his phone, rising from his chair and walking out of the room. He smiled warmly.

“Hi! Nice to see you again, Prakash,” he said, shaking his hand. He turned to her and said, “You must be Vimala right? Thank you so much for coming. I’m Nandan, by the way.” As he shook her hand, he led them inside.

Another man was sitting at his desk, deeply engrossed with whatever he was typing on his computer.

“Surya,” Nandan said, “they’re here.”

The man looked up, and his eyes lit up. “Oh, hey, so sorry I didn’t hear you!”

He came forward to greet them, and Nandan introduced Surya as his partner at the studio.

In front of Surya’s desk sat two sofas around a short, glass coffee table.

“Please,” Surya said as Nandan went to the coffee machine sitting on a counter in the corner. “Have a seat, Nandan’s making us some coffee. How would you like yours?”

“Two teaspoons of sugar, thanks,” Prakash said, smiling genially.

“No sugar for me, thank you” Vimala said.

Surya’s eyebrows raised as he walked back to his computer. “Ooh, sugarless. Do we have a health nut in the office today?”

“No, I like the bitter taste of coffee. Sort of like life,” she said, chuckling awkwardly.

Surya stared at her for a moment, flabbergasted, then cracked a nervous, confused smile. “Haha, okay…just give me one sec, I was almost done with this email.”

Prakash leaned toward her, whispering, “What in God’s name was that?”

“I was trying to make a joke,” she said. “You know, like self-deprecating humour.”

“You sounded like a suicidal teenager on Tumblr. Christ, please don’t say shit like that again.”

His expression was stern, and Vimala swallowed her reply. She gave the bag she was holding a tight squeeze, then lowered it to the ground and removed her laptop.

Nandan came back with four tall mugs of steaming coffee, placing them on the table. As if on cue, Surya closed his computer and joined, them, taking his mug in hand. As they sat back in the sofas, Vimala felt the softness of the cushion behind her, yet the stiffness in her back remained.

“All right,” Surya said after he’d had a sip. “So Vimala. Prakash and I have been in contact for quite a while now. He’s sent me your scripts and we’ve been discussing the possibilities of turning this into a proper show. Well, a webseries, actually, but I really think this has the potential to be something much more.”

“Multiple seasons, you mean?” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. “Of course, that’ll mean some script changes, but nothing that would upset the budget too much. Right?” He glanced at Nandan.

“Yeah,” his partner nodded, “we had some ideas ourselves, but that’s a discussion for later. You have the budget proposal with you, by any chance?”

“Yes, of course,” Vimala said, opening up the file in her laptop. The two of them studied it intently, slight frowns creasing their foreheads. They looked so young. Both of them seemed about the same age, and they couldn’t have been much older than 30. What was I doing at 30? That was the first time I was a lead writer on anything. A production house at 30. At that age, the only thing on my mind was a paycheck that kept us afloat. And I had Kalpana to look after. What would it take to produce shows at 30 years old, I wonder.

Surya’s voice cut into her thoughts. “What’s this ‘Medical Aid’ category supposed to be?”

“Oh, that,” Vimala said with a smile. “Well, there are three episodes where the action scenes are going to get a little risky, so I felt having a doctor on set to handle a situation would make the shoot a whole lot safer.”

“I mean, they’re stuntmen, it’s kind of their job, right?” Nandan said with a chuckle.

Vimala frowned slightly. “Yes, but things could still go wrong, right? Why take the chance?”

“You want to treat injuries on the set?” he said.

“No, no, of course not,” she said, her brow furrowing. “Just basical medical care until we can get them to a hospital.”

Surya nodded in reply, but didn’t speak. Vimala got the feeling he wasn’t convinced. They’re going to bring this up later, I know it. God damn it, how bloated is my budget?

Surya and Nandan spent the next ten minutes asking Vimala about the budget, about what she expected the schedule would be like. Vimala found she was able to answer their questions with no more than a second’s thought, even surprising herself a few times. It was true that she’d gone over all this before with Prakash a few times, but there was a distinct sense of ownership she felt for the script. Something she hadn’t felt in all her years at Radhakrishnan Studios. There had been trepidation within her, for this wasn’t nearly a sure thing as those daily soap serials, but it excited her far more than anything she’d written before it.

Finally, Surya closed Vimala’s laptop shut, pushing it across the table to her. She felt a momentary wave of relief pass through her, only to crash immediately as he leaned back in the sofa, pulling one leg underneath the other.

“There’s just a couple more things we’d like to talk about,” he said, smiling affably. “Nothing major, just a chat we usually have with all our potential partners.”

“Absolutely,” Vimala said, forcing a smiling as she gestured for him to continue. “Go ahead.”

“What got you into writing in the first place?” Surya asked.

The question surprised her a little. “Well,” she started, then paused for a moment to think. What will they think of that, I wonder. Shit, I should have seen this question coming. She stopped her thoughts in their tracks, knowing that if she let them, they’d fill her mind with self-doubt to the point where she’d have no more room to think straight.

“I—I guess it started off with writing the stories I’d wanted to read.”

“How do you mean?” Surya asked.

“You know how you read a book, and sometimes you just wish the story had gone down a certain way?” Vimala said. “You were hoping for the story to do one thing, but clearly the author had a different idea in mind. Have you ever felt that way?”

“Yes, actually,” Surya said, smiling a little. “Lots of times. Some of those twists just leave me so disappointed.”

“Exactly,” Vimala said, sitting up straighter. “When that happened to me, I’d get so incredibly frustrated to the point of wanting to put the book down and never reading it again. At one point, I just decided, if I want these stories to go in a certain direction, why not just write them myself?” She shrugged. “So that’s what I did. That’s how I got into writing.”

Surya laughed aloud. “That’s really interesting, you know? Something like that had never occurred to me.” He paused for a moment. “So you’ve been screenwriting all through your professional career, I take it.” Vimala nodded.

“Do you think it’s helped you achieve that objective? Of being able to write the stories you want, and take them in the direction you see them going.”

Even as she opened her mouth to speak, she stopped herself. It was as if a fist had been driven into her gut, and she was left gasping for air. In that one moment, she realised Surya had stripped bare a question she’d simply not thought to ask herself, a question she’d always believed was so important to her life but which she’d never really tried to answer honestly. Perhaps she’d even known the answer, somewhere deep down where her conscious mind hadn’t ventured, but…how had she not asked herself this, ever? It was a raw wound revealing a much deeper, seemingly innocuous infection that somehow, for some reason, she hadn’t noticed. Had she been deluding herself all this time? She didn’t know the answer to that, either.

“I…” Vimala struggled to find the words to respond. “I guess not. N-no, it hasn’t.” She couldn’t find it in her to meet Surya’s eyes.

His voice was softer now, gentler somehow. “So why did you continue doing it?”

Vimala didn’t say anything for several seconds, feeling her heart beating against her ribcage. God, she felt like a fool. A damn fool who couldn’t even think for herself. Who knew how unhappy she was and hadn’t had the courage to face reality. Or even herself.

“I guess…” her voice trailed off momentarily. She felt Prakash shift in his seat next to her, and that helped draw her wits back about her. “I wanted things to change. You know? All my life I’d been watching TV serials and soap operas taking the same exact storylines and changing one thing here, another thing there. It was always the same, and it was always so uncomprisingly shitty.” She realised she’d just sworn in front of them. “Sorry,” she said hastily.

Nandan chuckled, not unkindly. “Don’t worry about it. We curse like sailors in the office. At least now we can let our guard down with you.”

“But why try to change such an old, monolithic industry?” Surya pressed. “You could have just gone ahead and become a novelist, right?”

“I love film,” Vimala replied immediately. “It’s still my dream to write for movies. I’ve written some scripts, but none have been picked up yet. But I also love the serialised format of shows. The way the same story gets to continue on screen, day after day, week after week. I enjoy that so much. When I joined Radhakrishnan Studios…I don’t know. I guess I was trying to prove a point.” Her eyes were distant for a few moments, her lips pressed together pensively. She shook her head then, becoming very conscious of herself. “God, I don’t know why I’m rambling like this. I’m really sorry.”

“No, no, no, of course not. We like to get to know the people we work with better. You know, when I was working at this big production house a few years ago, I used to feel the same way. The work ethic in this industry is deplorable. But it’s like chipping away at a mountain with chisel. You make a dent in the damn thing, sure, but how long will that take? And what will it get you in the end?”

Surya shook his head. “It’s just not worth it. That’s when Nandan and I decided to figure out our own path. Why carve out the mountain when you can just bypass it? Sure, we’ve had more than our share of shit to deal with, but let me tell you, cleaning up someone else’s shit is far less savoury than cleaning up your own.”

“It’s kind of our unofficial motto,” Nandan said with an amused grin. He leaned forward, fixing his eyes on Vimala. “That’s why we’re so glad you’ve come to us. And had this talk with us, too. It was fascinating, really.”

“You two would probably do better as psychiatrists,” Prakash said with a wry smile.

Surya laughed. “Yeah. I guess we’ve just learned it’s way easier to deal with someone when you know what they’re like as a person.”

There was a long pause.

“Well,” Prakash said, moving to edge of the sofa, sitting forward, “I think this was a really productive meeting. We’re both glad to have been able to speak to you. How soon do you think you’ll be able to get back to us on this?”

“Actually, we were just going to ask you that,” Surya said. He turned to his partner. “When do you think we can get started with shooting?”

Vimala’s eyes widened. “You—you’ve…”

Nandan grinned. “We were pretty sold on your show from the start. We just wanted to work out the specifics and talk to the creator. And you’ve just about checked all the requisite boxes, Mrs. Vimala.”

“Welcome aboard,” Surya said, extending his hand toward her. She immediately snapped out of her momentary trance, shaking his hand as she smiled giddily.

“We hope you enjoy the flight,” Nandan said with a chuckle, shaking hands with her and Prakash.

“Thank you so much,” she said. “This is like…oh my god, I don’t know what to say.” She shook her head, as if trying to clear her mind of the whirlwind of emotions. “Thank you. Thank you so, so much.”

Nandan smiled. “There’s really no need to thank us. Your work speaks for itself. We’re just glad we listened.”

“We’re sure this show will do well,” Surya said. “We’ve spoken with Netflix and Amazon about this, and I’ve already got a director in mind, and a cinematographer. We should be able to start the storyboarding soon. Then onto shooting.”

“That’s fantastic, Surya,” Prakash said. “I guess we never expected the decision to come so quickly. But we’re so glad to hear it.”

“We’re glad to say it,” Surya said with a nod. “Oh, and before I forget, there’s just some basic details I need clarified. You know, before I send you guys the contracts.”

“Of course, please,” Prakash said, gesturing for him to continue.

“So we’ve had a pretty good relationship with both Netflix and Amazon Prime. You know how it goes, if one doesn’t pick it up, the other usually does. If it’s good enough, of course.”

Vimala nodded.

“Right now, with your show, it’s still fairly early,” Surya continued. “Nothing’s set in stone. But both Nandan and I have big plans for your show, and I really think we want to invest more in this project and make it something of a spectacle. You know, loosen the purses somewhat.”

“Normally, funding for our projects is totally in-house. That’s how the contracts go. But for you guys—this is only because we think your project has a lot more to offer—we’re willing to modify that contract. This is a temporary measure of course. Just until Netflix or Amazon step in to help out.”

“What do you mean, exactly?” Vimala said.

Nandan’s smile was patient, his tone unhurried. “We’ll need a boost to get this project off the runway and into the air. So until the big suit-and-tie guys come with their big briefcases stuffed with cash, we want you guys to help us fund the production of the show so we can get it started.”

Vimala stared blankly at the man.

“What?”

The Generation Gap: Episode 4

The lift doors slid open with the sound of a woman announcing, “Third floor”. Vimala adjusted the strap of her laptop bag as she headed inside the building, passing by the receptionist who had turned her chair almost away from the table, typing something on her phone with a bored expression. Pushing through the glass double-doors, she entered the modest office area occupied by employees of Radhakrishan Studios. Most of the people who worked on her show were using the space, save for the editing room that was down the hall.

Even as she stepped into the office she sensed something was amiss. Without slowing her pace, she looked around her, and where there normally was a lively hall full of people talking on the phone or typing away at their computers or chattering by the water coolers, the atmosphere was subdued, filled with silent foreboding. Vimala frowned at the curious scene, observing the downcast faces, the serious expressions people wore as they spoke with each other. Faizal was at the other end of the hall, talking to a woman Vimala vaguely knew to be in marketing. There was distress in her face, and though she was trying to hide it, she didn’t seem far from breaking into tears. Faizal laid a hand on her arm, muttering something Vimala couldn’t make out. He acknowledged her with a nod and a cursory smile before returning to his conversation.

Romesh was in the writing room, leaning back in his chair, bouncing a ball against the wall with, looking utterly indifferent to whatever had people on edge outside.

“Productive as usual, I see,” Vimala said, not deigning to look at him as she laid her bag down, ran a hand through her hair. He didn’t so much as flinch.

“What’s gotten into everyone out there?” she said.

“Haven’t heard?” There was an edge of derision to Romesh’s tone. “They’re shutting the show down. Gone bust. Poof.” He made an exploding gesture with his hands.

“Yeah, I knew it was going out sooner than later,” Vimala said, “but I’m pretty sure they’ve got a few shows on the pipeline. Didn’t we just hear a pitch last week? They’ll be assigned to that, right?”

“If only it were that simple,” Romesh said. He shook his head, smiling sardonically. “How do you always get the memo late? The studio’s been haemorrhaging money. For, like, almost a year. They’re downsizing. No one knows who’s getting laid off.”

“And you’re not worried?”

“I’m a writer,” Romesh said with that arrogant drawl she’d come to despise. He leaned back, locking his fingers behind his head. “There’s three of us here. At most, they can fire one.”

“It’s delicious how self-assured you are.”

“Why shouldn’t I be? I’m not the lead writer on any show, so shitty audience numbers won’t be attributed to me. And besides, I’ve never had trouble following the studio’s instructions. But there are some who aren’t quite so easy to deal with…”

“You mean someone who actually cares about the quality of the work she puts out?”

“Go ahead, get on your high horse,” Romesh said, unfazed. “It’s what you do best. But I’ll tell you something, Vimala. You can complain all you like about how no one gives you the chance to push the envelope or ‘spread your writerly wings’ or whatever, but no one really gives a shit. You think you’re the next big thing in screenwriting, but you’re not.”

His eyes were mocking, ridiculing. “You didn’t give this studio jack. The show limped along for two years until it couldn’t even pull its own weight anymore.”

Romesh stood, unflinching through his diatribe, and his words fell upon Vimala with the weight of sledgehammers.

“You can live in your little bubble thinking you’re a brilliant, misunderstood cinematic genius but people won’t care unless they see results. Because you don’t work with the system, you keep trying to push against it. The Godfather was fantastic, but it was also a hit. I mean, it’s a mistake to compare you with Francis Ford Coppola, but I had to make a point. You’re living in denial, and honestly, it’s pretty pathetic. You’re going to fuck up the workplace for everybody, including yourself. You’ve already done that here, and I’m sick of it.”

His eyes were filled with loathing and resentment, and Vimala’s gut twisted to the point of physical pain as she watched him grab his bag and brush past her as he walked out of the room.

The muscles in Vimala’s jaw tightened, and she slowly stepped forward, sinking into one of the chairs at the table. She absently pulled out her laptop, unmindful of the papers on the table as she pushed them aside. She pressed the button to turn the thing on, then stared blankly at the screen as it lit up. No thoughts came to her mind. Just the image of Romesh yelling at her on an endless loop, the words crowding together, forming a jumble that she would have liked to believe was incoherent, but which she decidedly understood. To the very last, painful notion it suggested.

“Rough start to the day?” Prakash’s voice piped up from the doorway, disrupting the churning rapids of thought holding her prisoner.

“What?” she said, her unfocussed eyes fixing on him as she tried to collect her senses.

“I’m assuming you and Romesh there weren’t exactly exchanging friendly workplace banter,” he said, a sympathetic smile crossing his face as approached, sitting next to her.

Vimala smiled awkwardly, turning away from him to type the password on her computer. Before she could say anything, he spoke. “Don’t worry, I won’t even ask. But I did need to talk to you.”

She exhaled deeply, her forehead creasing. “Prakash, if it’s about the meeting with those producers tomorrow—“

“No, no, it’s not about that,” he said with a flick of his hand. “We’ll discuss it later. I came to tell you about the layoffs hitting the studio in the next few days.”

“Yeah. Romesh told me about it. Great news.”

“I don’t even know how informations spreads like this,” Prakash said, shaking his head. “It was just between me and the executives. And a couple of others.” He paused. “God damn it, it was probably that Meghala and her big mouth.”

“Yeah,” Vimala said with a wry smile, “I guess you really can’t tell what people are thinking even after years of working with them.”

Prakash stared blankly at her for a second. “Umm, okay,” he muttered awkwardly, “I don’t what all that’s about, so I’m just going to go ahead and say…yeah, sure, I guess? But anyway, there’s still a few episodes we need to write and shoot before we’re officially wrapping the damn thing. I’m guessing we’re going to be understaffed, so for the next few weeks, until everything here smooths over, I’m going to need you to—“

There was a knock at the door. They both looked up to see the office peon standing outside with a tray full of small glasses. Before Vimala could tell him to leave, Prakash waved him in.

“If I had to put my money on one guy who’s definitely sticking around after this week…” he said dryly, picking up two glasses of coffee from the tray.

Instead of leaving, the peon reached for an evelope sitting in his oversized breastpocket, handing it to Vimala.

“Raghavendra sir gave for you, madam,” he said, before walking back out into the hall.

Vimala looked at the envelope, frowning. It was in the signature pale, nearly white shade of blue used by Radhakrishna Studios, the black and white logo tastefully placed on the bottom-left corner. It had Vimala’s name on it, in what she presumed to be Raghavendra’s scrawl. She looked up at Prakash.

“Prakash, what is this?” she said.

“No idea,” he said. “Raghavendra never told me he was going to send you anything.”

When she turned it upside down, a single sheet of paper, neatly folded, slid out of the envelope onto her hand. She put the envelope on the table and opened up the letter.

“Dear Mrs. Vimala Sundar,” she began reading aloud, “I regret to inform you…”

“Fuck,” Prakash muttered under his breath.

Vimala’s eyes remained on the letter, unmoving. She swallowed.

“I regret to inform you that your services will no longer be required at Radhakrishna Studios. The termination is effective upon your receiving this letter.”

“Okay, Vimala, relax,” Prakash said hurriedly, shifting closer to her. He tried to affect a calm appearance to hide his concern for her. “The layoffs…they’re hitting everyone in the office. Just…I know this is going to be hard for a while, but trust me, it’ll be fine. There’s going to be severance pay, and it won’t look as bad on your record as you think. Honestly.”

Vimala bit her lip, nodding as her eyes scanned the rest of the letter. She turned to look at him, handing him the letter.

“Then what’s the rest of it supposed to mean?” she said.

Taking the letter, Prakash examined it. That’s when he saw the list, six items long, of the reasons they cited to justify their decision.

“Is that laundry list part of the layoffs too?” she said in a biting tone. “Does it still mean I get to have severance pay? Oh, and a half-decent résumé?”

Prakash’s face was as hard and still as stone as his eyes roamed across the words once, twice, thrice. He looked up at her, despairing.

“Vimala, I swear, I had no idea they were planning to fire you, especially not like this.”

Her elbow on the table, she was resting her forehead on two fingers.

“Seriously, if I had known about all…this, I’d have asked you to quit way before it even came to this point.”

Vimala closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She felt as if her skull were splintering, her mind rupturing under the weight of too many blows in far too quick succession. It was a struggle for her to even rein in the volcanic rage that was filling within her, much less talk. And yet she forced herself to calm her voice, calm enough, at least, for it not to quaver when she spoke.

“When does it say I have to leave the office with all my things?” she said, her voice taut, drained of its energy.

When she heard Prakash sigh, she already knew the answer.

---

Kalpana stepped out into the cool evening air, her eyes swinging towards the gardener who was off to one side of the compound, watering the plants with a hose. His thumb partially covering the mouth of the hose, the water spread like a fan as it sprayed in a light drizzle on the plants.

Kalpana remembered when she used to do that as child, and her father getting livid when she drenched him by mistake once. Her fingers could only just wrap around the plastic hose, and she almost always used to end up getting it tangled in knots by the end. And Vimala hated it when she’d walk back into the house without washing her feet, tracking muddy water all around the house. The memory brought a smile to Kalpana’s face.

She heard the others following not far behind as she opened the gate, heading outside. As she glanced back, she saw Gaurav and Rohini leave the house, and he said something to Rohini she couldn’t quite hear, except for a faint, “…catch up with you in a little while. Bye.”

As she continued walking, she heard his footsteps grow louder as he jogged in her direction. She turned around, just in time to see him lunge forward. “Boo!” he shouted, almost headbutting her.

Kalpana squealed in fright, almost falling over. Gaurav burst out laughing, holding her arm to steady her.

“Real freaking mature, Gaurav,” Kalpana said, crossing her arms, but she couldn’t keep from smiling a little.

“You should have seen your face,” he said, shaking his head with a grin.

The two of them started walking together.

“So what are you doing walking this way?” Kalpana said. “Won’t the neighbour aunties see you with a strange girl and tell mummy?”

Gaurav shrugged. “They’re long past that. I think they’re convinced I’m going to get Rohini pregnant or give her an STD or something.”

She frowned. “You and Rohini are dating?”

“Pfft, no. But she’s been my best friend since, like, ever. We grew up in this neighbourhood.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“It’s safe for guys and girls to hang out when they’re kids, but when they hit puberty, their irrepressible sex drives make it impossible for them to coexist without wanting to bone.”

Kalpana looked at him strangely for a few seconds, and he saw it.

“That was a joke, Kalpana,” he said after a long pause.

“Oh, thank God.”

“You really need to work on detecting sarcasm when you hear it,” he said with a smirk. “I probably sounded like a sexual predator when I said that.”

“You did, actually. I was about to reach for my pepper spray.”

“You have pepper spray?”

“No. It’s called sarcasm, Gaurav. Get better at it.”

He chuckled at that. “Okay, yeah. You got me there.”

After a brief pause, he said. “So where are we going?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m going home.”

“Are you free? Just for a bit? We can go get some coffee at this really nice place. It’s just two minutes from here.”

Kalpana checked her watch. It was 5:30. Her mother hated it when Kalpana came home late. And she rarely stayed very late over at the studio, which meant that if Kalpana got home later than she did, she’d set some stupid curfew. Especially with exams so close.

She glanced at Gaurav, who was looking at her expectantly. The question tugged at her mind, gently at first, then more firmly once it had gotten a grasp.

It’s just a coffee. He’s asking me out for a cup of coffee. That would be pretty nice. And how long is a curfew going to last, anyway?

She smiled at him. “Yeah, I’m free,” she said. Her eyes immediately moved away, fixing on a spot right in front of her as she nervously pushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

As they walked down the main road, Gaurav stopped in front of a quaint little café, the small compund surrounded by wooden cross fencing overgrown with creepers. Upon small shelves set into the fence at different heights were over a dozen little potted bonsai plants around the café, and a different bonsai sat on every table. The tables themselves were made with aged wood, giving the place a homely, well-worn appearance.

“Wow,” Kalpana muttered as she strode into the café with Gaurav. “How have I not heard of this place before? I feel like I walked into the Shire.”

“It’s only been here for two years,” Gaurav said, pulling a chair and sitting at a table. Sitting across from him, Kalpana studied the adorable little ficus bonsai on the table, letting her finger slide along the edge of one of the leaves.

“Bonsai have always fascinated me,” she said. “Just downsized versions of the real thing. They’re not even distorted.” She looked up at the bonsai sitting on the shelves. “It must be so hard to maintain all of them.”

“Oh yeah. It is.”

She frowned at him. “How would you know?”

“It looks kind of hard to take care of, doesn’t it?” he said with a shrug.

A waiter approached their table, and when he saw Gaurav, his face lit up.

“Hi sir! Is this some kind of surprise inspection today? Where have you been these days?”

“Hi Ashwin,” he said. “I know, man, I wanted to come here earlier. I’m having my exams in less than a month, what could I do?”

“Aiyyo, I was just joking, sir,” Ashwin said good-naturedly. “It’s good to see you again. Anyway, what can I get you?”

“Mochaccino, I think. I haven’t had that in a while.”

“And you, ma’am?” Ashwin said, turning to her.

Kalpana, who’d been watching their exchange curiously for the past minute, suddenly realised he was talking to her.

“Me?” she said, then looked at the chalkboard menu behind the counter all the way inside. Too small to read. “Uhh…what do you have?”

Gaurav was doing a poor job of hiding an amused smile. “This is your cue to hand out the menu card, Ashwin.”

“Oh, God, I totally forgot!” the waiter said, straightening. “So sorry about that, ma’am.”

Kalpana took the menu card from him, glancing suspiciously at Gaurav. “You have the whole damn thing memorised or something?”

“More or less,” he said. “You can say I’m a regular.”

Kalpana spent a minute looking through her options before placing her order. Ashwin nodded, smiled and went back inside.

“How well do you know these people?” she said, leaning forward on the table.

“Pretty well, I’d say,” he said. “I’m best buds with Ashwin.” He paused for a moment. “Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t I show you the inside of the café?”

“What? You think they’re just going to let you traipse into the kitchen just because you’re friends with one waiter?”

“They better. I own the place.”

Kalpana just stared at him for several seconds, uncomprehending.

“What?” she said.

“Well, technically it’s my mom’s place,” he said as if that made all the difference. “But it’s in my name, so legally it’s mine, I guess?”

“You own this place?”

“Yeah, but trust me,” Gaurav continued, as if he’d barely even heard her, “the decor, the bonsai, the fence and shit? All my mom. I don’t know how she gets the time.”

“When were you planning to tell me this?” she said.

He laughed. “Exactly when I did. Just so I could see your reaction. And it was totally worth it.”

“Your mom has some excellent taste, I must say,” she said, sitting back in her chair. “This place is just…amazing.”

“So, about my offer…wanna see what it’s like inside?”

“Uh, yeah!” Kalpana said, as if there was nothing more obvious. “Show me!”

Smiling, Gaurav got to his feet, leading her to the café counter. He extended an arm to a narrow passage beside it, saying, “Milady.”

“Why, thank you, sir,” Kalpana said in overtly gracious voice, curtsying before walking inside. Already she could smell the scent of coffee filling the warm air in the passage, that deliciously rich aroma given off by beans being slowly roasted. The low, gradually loudening whir of machinery sounded hollow in the passage.

“Holy shit, you guys roast your own coffee?” Kalpana said.

The facility beyond was modest, but she’d never been to a coffee mill of any size before. There was a drum-like contraption that stood about her height, a wide funnel attached to it where she assumed the beans were poured inn. A wide cylinder sat right beneath it to receive what spilled out of the drum. Gaurav walked up to it, resting a hand on the edge of the cylinder.

“This is the roasting drum,” he said. “Don’t touch it, it gets really hot.”

He described the coffee-making process in great detail, showing her how every machine in the room worked. The room was quite warm, with the roasting drum and walls that were rather close together, but she hardly noticed it in the ten minutes they spent there. He let her feel and even taste the different powders they made.

As he led her back out into the café, he turned to look at her.

“So,” he said, their eyes meeting, “what do you think?”

It took a few moments for Kalpana to find the words. “Gaurav, this is…I’ve never seen anything like this before. It was amazing.” She paused for a moment. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, and you haven’t even had our coffee yet,” he said, sitting down with gleeful, almost smug grin. Just as Kalpana sat, Ashwin seemingly materialised from behind her with a tray, two coffees and a wide smile. He placed them both on the table, and a small plate of cookies.

“Enjoy,” he said, turning and walking back inside.

“So is this what you do?” she said, trying to hide a smile as she stirred the drink. “Ask girls out for coffee and then take them to your own café?”

“It’s worked a couple times before,” he said, sipping his drink and leaning back in his chair. “If it ain’t broke, why fix it?”

“It is a good business model,” she said.

“It is, isn’t it?”

For nearly an hour they sat there, an hour that Kalpana hardly noticed pass by. At some point, she glanced at her watch.

“Holy shit, it’s 6:45!” she said, visibly alarmed. “My mom’s going to crucify me.”

“On a scale of 1 to 10, how honest are you going to be about what you were doing all this time?” Gaurav said, amused in the way an parent would be of a prattling child.

“Minus 5.”

“You could tell her someone kidnapped you but then had to let go of you because you were impossible to put up with.”

“You know,” Kalpana said, pretending to mull on it, “that sounds like something she’d believe.”

Kalpana got to her feet, grabbing her bag, when Gaurav said, “That’ll be 150 rupees. For the coffee.”

She stared at him, dumbstruck, in utter shock. Until he broke out in that stupid grin of his again.

“Did you really fall for that, too?” he said, laughing as he got up. “Dude, I’m way better at this than I thought.”

“You have seriously got to stop doing that, you ass,” she said. “You’re like an overgrown 5-year old.”

As they reached the main road, Gaurav started, as if just remembering something.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he said. “Wait right here. I’ll be back in a sec.” He ran back into the café, to the counter where she saw him speaking with Ashwin. He grabbed a packet and hurried back to Kalpana, handing it to her.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Our signature Bonsai Café dark and medium roast blend. I noticed you took you coffee strong, so I thought you might enjoy this.”

The packaging was smooth, all-black with hints of brown, and when she held it to her nose, the smell of coffee overpowered her senses.

“Wow,” she muttered. “Smells like…wow.”

“If you like it, don’t forget to tell me,” he said. “We have 3 other flavours.”

She looked up at him, and when she did, couldn’t help but smile.

“Hey, Gaurav,” she said softly. “Thanks. For today. It was really great.” She moved forward to hug him, and his long arms wrapped around her. When they separated, their eyes met again, and he was smiling at her, too.

“So did I. And you’re welcome. Let’s do this again sometime.”

“Yeah. Let’s.”

An autorickshaw was passing by, and she hailed him.

“See you tomorrow, then,” she said.

He just smiled at her, and waved. As she got in, she watched him turn around, hands in his pockets as he strode back inside the café. But then the auto turned around the corner and he was gone.
———

“I’ll have a rava idly. Thanks.”

Sandhya smiled at the waiter as she handed him the menu card back. Sundar did the same.

“You know,” she said, facing him, “I think I’ve developed a real taste for rava idly. They’re pretty filling, but they don’t make you feel bloated or guilty or anything.”

“Yeah,” Sundar said, barely hearing her, eyes fixed on the patterns in the granite table’s surface. “They’re all right.”

“I’ve never really liked the whole dieting thing,” she continue, oblivious to his lack of reciprocity. “I get that people want to lose weight, but do they honestly think those keto or paleo diets are going to work? It’s kind of dumb.”

Sundar didn’t respond. His fingers played with the edge of the tissue paper, compulsively ripping tiny bits off and casting them aside. The sounds of the restaurant around him were like the roar of a distant mixie, white noise he could only just hear, but couldn’t seem to ignore. The clatter of spoons, one of the waiters shouting orders into the kitchen, random snatches of conversations filling his head with unintelligible words.

“So anyway,” Sandhya said, adjusting her hair a little self-consciously, “there’s something I wanted to talk to you about. I know there’s something you want to tell me, but I have to tell you this first. It really can’t wait.” There was a childlike excitement in her voice. Sundar forced himself to look up at her.

“So my mom’s going to Dharmasthala on the 16th with my aunt. It’s only the two of us at home, so I have the house all to myself that day.”

Her eyes sparkled expectantly, a small, innocuous smile on her lips. She waited for a few, painfully long seconds. Sundar didn’t say anything. She could see how heavy his breathing had gotten.

“It’s a Saturday,” she said, as if prodding him to respond. “College is over early, right? We’re both free after lunch.”

He still didn’t say anything. Sandhya’s smile faded. “Sundar, can you please say something?”

“Don’t call me Sundar,” he grated, almost inaudible.

“What?” she said, her eyes narrowing.

Sundar sat straighter, pushing the paper napkin aside. “I said, don’t call me Sundar.”

Sandhya regarded him warily, but she didn’t look so much surprised as she did upset.

“Why not?” she said darkly, even though she already knew the answer.

“Sandhya,” he said with deep, unpleasant sigh, “I’m a married man. I have a daughter who’s barely three years younger than you. It’s true that I found…find—you attractive. And that’s only human, I can’t change that. But I can change how I act on it. That’s what matters in the end. I have a family, Sandhya, and I can’t jeopardise that for a fling with one of my students. I can’t.

“It would tear them apart. To see me even consider something like this. I’m not going to let it come to that. Besides, you’re a beautiful, talented young woman. You’re only just 20, and there’s so much of your life ahead of you, Sandhya. You deserve a man your own age, who can give you the time and headspace I’m in no position to give. I’m sorry, but please, you have to understand. Just stop this. I won’t do it any longer.”

He and Sandhya locked eyes for several breathless moments. He could feel his heartbeating against his ribcage, the sweat beading on his brow. But he felt his breaths coming easier, his chest less constricted as though he had squeezed himself free of a vise grip.

Sandhya leaned forward on the table, resting her chin upon her knuckles. She flashed him a mildly amused, pitiful smile.

“Oh, you men,” she said, tilting her head to the side. “With all your posturing and machismo. It would be funny if it weren’t so sad.”

“What are you talking about?” Sundar said, frowning.

“Do you think you’re doing me a favour by refusing to be with me? Do you think you’re being generous? Making this manly sacrifice all so that I don’t ruin my life in the reckless naïvete of youth?” Her sweet smile did nothing to dampen the razor-edge in her voice, souring into a mocking smirk. “I can’t tell if it’s your ego you’re trying to protect or your own ass. Because that’s a sad attempt at negotiation if I ever saw one.”

Sundar was at a loss for words. “Sandhya, what on Earth are you…” He stopped, averting his eyes in attempt to collect his thoughts. “Sandhya, I’m not trying to negotiate here.”

“Sure you are,” she said, her expression turning neutral, unreadable. “You’ve set a proposition before me, and you’re trying to get me to buy it. But I think I’m going to refuse.”

“Refuse? What will you do if I just walk away from here and never speak to you again?“

“Remember that day we spoke in the classroom alone?” She took a sip from her glass of water. “The morning of the play. There are CCTV cameras all along the corridor. They would have seen me come and go. Sundar, I’m a female student, and I’m less than half your age. I could literally say anything to them about how you blackmailed me into doing you…favours.”

“And that ridiculous speech of yours after the play?” Sundar rasped, his teeth grinding. “What will people make of that?”

Sandhya’s expression darkened, her eyes fixing him in a baleful gaze. “I was scared. I didn’t want to anger you, or you’d beat me. You’ve done that before. I can show them where you hit me last when I tried to disobey you.”

Sundar felt all the warmth abandon his body, the colour fleeing his cheeks like a tide. He felt hands wrapping around his throat, slowly constricting his windpipe so he couldn’t even draw breath.

The waiter appeared with a tray, placing a rava idly in front of Sandhya and two idlys before Sundar. Picking up the spoons, she cut a small piece of her rava idly, poured chutney over it, and took a bite.