My first thought is that someone tipped offTittleTattle. Aaditha must be furious.
Father is beside himself with laughter.
‘This is just great!’ he says. ‘The lady has a sense of humour. Who is that singer who walks around in disguises?’
Mother looks uncomfortable. ‘I’m not sure I see the humour in this, Gaurav. I think it’s reckless. You know I’m a fan of how she has managed her business as a woman, and she has done it all on her own.’
Navya shoots out of her chair. ‘Come on, Mother! You, of all people, should applaud her originality. You met Father when you walked the ramp in Milan.’
Mother blushes. ‘She is original, I grant her that, but now, as Vedveer’s fiancée, Ranibagh’s bahu, she has responsibility, which goes beyond just being Aaditha, because of which she must be cautious of how she goes about her life. She’s always in the public eye.’
‘Mom, stop!’ I hope Mother will not try this sermon on Aaditha. What I have done is bad enough.
‘Do you have a problem with her disguise, Brother?’ Navya turns to me; she’s sizing me up. ‘Not that Aaditha would pay heed; she’s too much of her own woman.’
Navya’s iPad is with me, and I zoom in on the photographs. The place looks like a dilapidated highway inn from another century. Her heavily tattooed friend is there, and so is his helmet.
‘How come you didn’t know about the disguise?’ Navya nudges.‘Haven’t you guys talked recently?’
I shut the iPad and turn away from Navya, and after what feels like perpetuity, I motion her with my eyes to the deck that overlooks the Banas.
The parents are discussing various ceremonies and how or whether to restrict invites for some events without offending anyone.
‘I don’t see why we have to restrict,’ Father says, breaking from the conversational flow, ‘Rathores don’t restrict; we believe in big and bigger.’
‘You can’t be inviting the universe, Gaurav,’ Mother says as Navya and I move away from them and walk out into the late afternoon sun.
We lean against the newly polished brass railings and look out at the stone steps that descend into the river, flanked bychhatris and shaded neem trees. The monsoon has passed, leaving behind a freshly washed landscape, the river is full but calm, and the air is scented with the lush wilderness.
Even though I am still beating myself up for how I behaved in Bengaluru, this afternoon’s conversation with Father has lifted a weight I’ve been carrying for weeks.
It isn’t a ploy or a game. Her eyes didn’t lie.
‘I messed up big time,’ I tell my sister, and proceed to lay it all out for her.
‘That’s so unlike you, Brother, losing your cool like that, showing your vulnerable side,’ Navya says, turning to face me. Her fingers are on my wrist; her eyes hold my gaze.
A surge of emotion rises, long-buried, unfamiliar and so intense it rattles something deep within me, shaking my very foundation.
‘Is this so-in-control Rathore lost in love?’ She asks the question as her lips lift in a smile.
Navya has never had a problem expressing herself, her opinions, even her fears.Around her, more than with anyone else who carries the Rathore name, I feel inclined to hold a mirror to my inner self.
‘What are you going to do about it?’ she asks.
‘I have messaged, called, but she hasn’t responded.’
‘She’s hurt; give her time,’ Navya says.
Maybe that, or Aaditha read my texts for what they were: that I wanted to apologize for my behaviour, not so much for blaming her.
‘I’m not sure she wants to see me any time soon.’
Navya smiles. ‘If I were you, I would take hope from the fact that she hasn’t called off the wedding.’
I shake my head. I’m not sure Aaditha not calling it off means anything.
22.
