He nods. I use that as encouragement and press ahead.
‘They will be appreciative that their maharaj is using all his resources to give them a better life; when opportunity and money come their way, they will be forever grateful,’ I say. ‘This is why a lease would work; we return the principal amount and get our property back at some point.’
Father looks out of the window. He has such an aversion to light, I wonder how he is handling so much of it.
‘Do you know who this party is?’ I ask.
‘A foreign conglomerate. They acquire boutique properties and turn them into luxury hotels without altering the structure.’
‘Is there a minimum period when we can break the lease?’ I ask.
Father points at the papers I had set aside. ‘I think twenty years. There’s an out after ten, but that’s in an extreme circumstance, and it comes with a huge penalty.’
I nod. ‘Twenty years is enough time. We should be making good profits by then.’
Father smiles. I’m aware that the only reason he is considering the lease is because I’m pushing him to it.
Ranibagh is my most favourite corner on the globe. This is where I come to get away from everything. Navya and I rushed here to be with Grandfather on every school break. It is where I feel love, the ground below my feet and all it holds.
Some of my fondest memories growing up are at the maharaj’s apartment, a floor above where I’m standing now.
In the spring, I used to sit on the swing on the terrace that overlooks an ornamental lake, thinking it was the brightest spot ever. In the winter, the water had a stealthy touch to it. The sun, bashful at thattime of the year, came out later in the morning. Grandfather would point that out to me, and I would laugh hysterically.
‘You look like the sun now, Veer,’ he would tell me.
Ranibagh, with a living area of 80,000 square feet, is the largest palace in India. It has sixty bedrooms and ten ultra-luxurious royal suites, each with additional living areas and private balconies. It has nurseries, libraries, reception halls, dining and tea rooms, a movie theatre, games rooms and a sprawling spa and wellness centre. An economy by itself.
‘We are not turning over Ranibagh in its entirety,’ Father says.
I shake my head. ‘The royal suites, the Maharaja’s Library, a reception hall, the kitchens and dining spaces and the staff areas stay with us.’
‘The sixty living rooms go to them.’
Ranibagh is built latitudinally, where the royal suites and the children’s nurseries overlook a section of the waterbodies, while the other part of the construction, the area we will be leasing, runs alongside the grounds.
‘The account books say Ranibagh is a strain on the finances,’ I say, swallowing guilt.
‘I found a way to manage.’
We have to do better than manage, and Father knows that. ‘If, for the time being, a part of it becomes someone else’s problem,’ I say, ‘it will work for us.’
He is non-committal, but as I turn to him, I see the blood rush to his face.
‘We should wait,’ he says.
I nod. That he hadn’t said no is a victory.
Raj Kiran opens the door, and Navya walks in, armed with her sunglasses.
She settles into the seat I vacated and tells Father that she is also considering marriage, maybe in a year. Her tone is casual, like she is telling us about the next pair of glasses she wants to buy.
‘Wedding.’ Father considers the word like it is a collector’s item he is turning over to check its veracity. ‘We have Veer’s first.’
As a family, we don’t do emotions very well. Definitely not that part of the family that is in the room. Drama is never far away.
‘When do you want to get married, Rajkumari?’ Father asks.
‘I’m giving you advance notice,’ she says.
