The session is off to a strong start. Navya, the more interesting by far of the Ranibagh siblings, is in her element today.
‘Being royal isn’t sipping coffee under marble arches,’ she says, looking at Aaditha. ‘It wouldn’t hurt my sister’s pockets, though, but in all seriousness, it’s about dodging family politics, committee meetings and your mother’s opinion on your Instagram posts.’
I chuckle. Aaditha is smiling, looking at Navya. There’s a movement to Aaditha’s right. Mr Tattooed Arm, helmet in hand, is actually nudging her.
She says he is someone dear to her, but who is he? I’m not jealous; I’m curious.
Kaminski asks about my Green Dream – the hours I spend on the land, what time I go out each morning and what time I return and all that happens in between. I detail my day, speaking extensively on organic farming and boring everyone, particularly Aaditha.
Thankfully for me and the audience, Navya’s soon-to-be-launched fashion label, RaniLine, takes over the rest of the interaction.
The session then opens for questions from the audience – something about what it means to be born into a legacy – then one about palaces – if living in one feels surreal or suffocating. A student from a law school asks if we feel obligated to be ‘inspiring’. And where does royalty stand in the age of democracy?
All good questions. We take turns answering, until I’m tossed one that takes me by surprise in gentle Bengaluru.
‘Your Highness, have you and Miss Aaditha Prathap signed a prenup?’
I take a second to react. My gaze shifts to Aaditha, who turns away the moment her eyes meet mine.
‘Considering that she’s the one who is moving into a relic of a residence a couple of centuries old, with an ancestral sword collection no one’s allowed to touch, I’m fairly certain she’s making the bigger gamble,’ I say, my eyes on Aaditha.
She’s smiling; the cameras are on her.
‘Jokes aside, we both believe in being open and honest. Whatever we sign, or don’t sign, is immaterial because of the mutual trust. What is important for both of us is how we protect and honour each other’s journeys.’
‘Will Aaditha Prathap change her name to Rathore after marriage, Your Highness?’
Aaditha flinches. Navya’s face is inscrutable. The question has upsetboth women.
‘I find questions of this nature offensive, more so when they are posed to the man because it is not his decision,’ I say. I’m irked, and I don’t hide it. ‘If Aaditha wants to change her name or initials, it’s her choice. I’m not the one who christened her, and I have no plans to rechristen her.’
There’s a round of cheers. Someone shouts, ‘Well said.’
Sometimes, applause is necessary, even if it is for calling out basic societal issues. The indiscretions need to be highlighted, over and over again.
The moment Navya and I get off the stage, we are surrounded by people requesting photos and autographs. I have an eye on Aaditha.
A thousand clicks later, I realize I have lost her.
Ratan extricates me from the crowd and nudges me along in the direction of a waiting vehicle at the rear entrance of the hotel.
‘Vedveer.’ I hear my name being called. I almost turn because of the familiarity of the address. It’s probably another Vedveer, I decide, and keep going.
‘Vedveer.’ It’s an American accent. It is Bengaluru, where Shanky, my bud from school, lives. I turn.
A tall man, almost my height and definitely not Shanky, is approaching us even as Ratan puts out his hand to keep him at bay.
‘Do I know you?’ I ask. He looks familiar; I have seen him somewhere.
‘I’m Arjun,’ he says, putting out his hand. ‘You don’t know me, but we have a common friend, Aaditha.’
I nod. This is the man in the photographs. The one who sent her roses, the one she emptied a mug of coffee on.
‘Aaditha and I go back a long time. We are friends… more than friends, actually,’ he says.
The smile is sly.
‘Nice meeting you, Arjun,’ I say, without shaking his hand, allowing security to move me along.
