I was speaking quickly; my tone was rushed.
‘Do you want to try and stand, maybe take a few steps, just to see if you’re okay?’ he asked.
I pushed myself up slowly. Vedveer put out his hand and took mine in his. He stood before me like we were prepping for a waltz to the tune of our ragged breath.
I took a couple of steps. I was not in pain, but I felt my ankle.
I returned my rear to the chair and watched as Vedveer rearranged furniture around me, the sight of which had staff scurrying to help, but he dismissed them. He lifted my leg and placed it on the table.
‘The incline will help your foot,’ he said.
I nodded. That’s when I remembered that Vedveer was on a night out, for which he had flown all the way from Jaipur. Kairi Gaur must be waiting.
‘Those are your friends?’ I asked, pointing in the direction of the club.
He nodded.
‘Don’t you want to return to them?’
‘I’m good,’ he replied.
‘Not very interesting, ah?’
Vedveer laughed.
It was at that moment that we noticed a camera flash. Vedveer was on his feet instantly, reaching for his phone and muttering under his breath. He walked away, phone in hand.
When he returned a few minutes later, he was followed by security, who formed a cover at the far end of the salon.
‘We can’t allow this situation to continue,’ Vedveer said, kneeling before me. He was breathing hard. I could hear him.
‘If we ignore this, the paparazzi will be hanging outside your hotel window.’
I was about to say that the only thing to do was to stay away from places like this, but I bit my tongue.
‘Right now, you’re okay in Bengaluru, but that could change, too.’ His voice was rough. ‘We need to act, throw them a few crumbs, do whatever it takes to keep them off our backs for a while.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked. It was a photograph, one more on social media. There were more pressing matters in the world, surely?
‘We have to do the interview! We can’t push it back any more.’ The decision was made.
Vedveer is at the door, waiting to greet us as we pull up at their rear entrance. He gives Amma a hand as she climbs the steps and then takes her arm in his as we walk through the pantry and the kitchen. His gallantry makes her blush.
The place is swarming with staff in sparkling whites, who stop their tasks and step aside as we pass.
As soon as we are out of the kitchen area, Vedveer hangs back and apologizes. Our eyes meet, and I nod.
He takes a unilateral decision to do a television interview. No discussion, no ‘Are you okay with this?’ I get his argument; the media is everywhere, and privacy is a joke. But the chaos isn’t new. Waiting a few weeks wouldn’t have changed a thing.
The reason I didn’t protest Vedveer’s POA is that had I insisted on going back to Bengaluru and scheduling the interview for another day, convenient to both of us, my family would’ve been on my case. Appa raised security concerns when I told him I’m staying the night in Delhi. He actually thought Iwould need security.
Amma and I are shown to the ‘Parivaar Suite’, which apparently is the only guest quarters on the floor the royals live on. It is the size of a spacious two BHK (bigger than my first house). It has two bedrooms, a lounge area with an upholstered sofa set, a coffee table with two chairs and a walk-in wardrobe, where the dress I am to wear for the interview is being aired out.
I find this so intrusive – a stranger unpacking your bags! I’m not sure, however, how I’m going to make anyone understand.
I look at Amma, who is settled on the sofa. I ask, ‘Enakke maduttiddare idella?’ Why are they doing this?
Amma smiles. ‘Talekedisikollabeda idkella.’ Don’t break your head over all this.
