“Kashmiris chose their khudgarzi two years ago, and it has set us on a path of bright, exponential growth and unprecedented development. When you start climbing a ladder, those threatened by you will try to pull your foot down. Hold your own, and keep climbing. My Kashmiris know that. They will keep climbing higher, unbothered by these grabbing hands.”
“I look forward to seeing Jammu & Kashmir return to peace under your leadership. Thank you for speaking to us.” Toru turned to the camera. “That was the Chief Minister of Jammu & Kashmir from his home office in Srinagar, standing solid in the face of this crisis and being the beacon of hope every Indian, every Kashmiri needs right now.”
“Cut.”
Toru got to her feet, reaching for her mic. Atharva sat still, looking quietly into his phone that had buzzed throughout the interview. Nothing alarming, just routine. He kept scrolling until he felt a heated gaze on his forehead. He glanced up, and Toru Ray was standing there on his head, her face a mix of anger and sorrow. He frowned, pushing to his feet.
“Thank you for the interview,” he smiled. “We’ve arranged high tea for you and your team. I need to rush, but please take your time winding up.”
“Atharva?” Her voice was soft. Not angry. His gaze went beyond her, and the room was busy, Fahad holding court with the director and the cameraman over raw footage, spot and light dismantling equipment, Altaf ready at the closed door.
“I deserved that,” Toru’s soft voice found his eyes whirling back down to her. “I apologise for what happened in London. If Iram is here, I want to speak to her too…”
“It’s alright, I accept your apology on both our behalf,” he lied. His myani zuv would get a word or two or more in before accepting the said apology. He didn’t know what this Iram would do. Or say.
“You don’t look too happy accepting it,” she quipped, her face impish. Atharva chuckled — “That’s my standard expression nowadays, don’t take it personally.”
“Smile more, Janab. Your kid wouldn’t want to look at a scowling father.”
“Oh, he sees more than his fair share of scowls.”
“I am sorry,” Toru’s eyes turned solemn. “About your daughter. It became prime news in no time. I tried stalling them from running it immediately but it was already out of my hand.”
A small lump went down Atharva’s throat. He nodded, diplomatic smile in place.
“Have you been in Delhi or Mumbai this last year?” He asked, compelled to switch topics.
“All over South India.”
“Let me guess, Karnataka and Tamil Nadu elections.”
“Yeah, well, touring with you through Ladakh’s mountains and monasteries felt like a holiday compared to the other election campaigns I have had to cover this season.”
“I don’t remember you being of quite the same opinion at the time.”
She gave a bark of laughter. “Youdidinsult me.”
“You were late.”
“You were not that big a leader at that time.”
“So? Only big leaders’ time is the time that matters?”
That shut her up. Then something struck her, and she gave him a cheeky grin.
“How can we still argue like I am that brash journalist from 2014 and you are the guy who was standing in an election with the odds stacked against you?”
He laughed, his muscles feeling a little lighter than they were at the start of the interview. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it suddenly when a baby was pressed into his arms. His baby.
“Hey, where did you come from?” Atharva smiled down at Yathaarth, who was bright and happy in his white romper with sailboats all over it. He cooed on Atharva’s shoulder before his gummy mouth closed on his shirt. Atharva cupped his skull to keep his newly balanced head on his neck. He was known to throw it off.
“There you are now, happy?” Saba beamed, handling Yathaarth’s carrycot on her wrist. Atharva’s eyes cut to her but he didn’t return her smile. Then he saw Begumjaan enter the room and pitied Saba. She looked ready to slaughter her.
“That is a beautiful baby boy,” Toru cooed from behind him. “Yathaarth, right?”
Atharva nodded, his fake smile in place, one that he was accustomed to flashing at every person who tried to butter him up in the guise of praising his baby. Toru craned her neck and blinked into his son’s face over his shoulder.
“He has Iram’s eyes.”
