She says we should call it off but hasn’t acted on it. She accuses me of folding but is equally guilty of toeing the line. She even watched the polo game, sitting beside Mother, despite her father saying she gets extremely nervous and ‘didn’t want to be on display’.
There might have been some passive–aggressive coercion from the Rathores, but Aaditha could’ve stood her ground. She’s capable of it.
Then there’s the kiss that burned itself in me, which she has forgotten. And yet, when we’re together, I can’t believe she feels nothing.
My fingers are tapping my elbow rhythmically.
Is there another man in her life?
The one who sends her red roses, whom she later has coffee with, yet pretends not to know who the flowers are from.
What about me? Why can’t I, who sees our differences so clearly, be the one to say no? What’s stopping me from calling it off?
A small voice cuts through the noise because, deep down, I don’t want it to end, maybe. Not after the kiss.
I return to my desk and ask Raj Kiran to ring for coffee and tea and give us some privacy.
Mother waits for Raj Kiran to close the door behind him. ‘I feel bad we didn’t advise them to bring hats for the game. We have a whole collection in the cloakroom for guests who may have forgotten hats,’ she says.
I shrug. I’m not sure the Gowdas really cared.
‘It didn’t strike me until the game started, and then, I didn’t want to make a show of it,’ Mother pushes ahead. ‘TittleTattlehas gone to townon the Gowdas not wearing hats.’
‘I’m not sure the Gowdas are overly concerned. They have lives, Mother.’
‘It’s different for a woman, Veer. When people gossip about our choices, it becomes personal.’
I nod.
‘I feel bad for the child; she gets such bad media.’
‘Social media. Media and social media are two different things.’
‘I know, I know, but optics. Maybe we should hire a style-savvy intern to help Aaditha,’ Mother suggests, leaning back in her seat.
‘Help her withwhat?’
‘Clothes, primarily; her style is too plain. We’re royals; she’s got to look like she belongs. Candy stripes are juvenile,’ she says, her eyes moving expressively. After a long pause, she adds, ‘And also maybe protocol; we need to brief her.’
‘I’ll do the briefing if and when required,’ I say quickly, ‘but I’m not sure we can thrust a stylist on anyone.’
Mother is smiling. ‘Even someone who is almost family?’
‘Mom, stop!’She wants to end it.
Mother’s eyes widen.
‘That’s why I said an intern. Maybe we can pick someone from a design school.’
I shake my head. This business of wanting to change her wardrobe is completely over the top. We need to dial down.
It is time to shift the conversation, take it away from style and dressing.
‘I haven’t checked with Ratan, but I’m sure we are already inundated with interview requests from media houses.’
Mother’s face lights up. ‘Oh yes! I forgot that; I was so nervous. We did it right here in this room,’ she says, looking around her and pointing at the wall adjacent to the window. ‘You should plan that soon, Vedveer, for reasons of security.’
I nod. Mother raises a valid point; only, I’m not sure if this is what Aaditha and I need right now.
