All it takes is a couple of seconds. She bends to admire her hand, and she has indigo on her forehead and hair.
‘Happy Holi,’ I return.
We stand there for a moment too long, surrounded by colour, chaosand family, trying not to stare.
It is closing on 8 p.m., but if the Coffee Queen needs her fix, who am I to tell her that her timing is off?
I message Ratan, who is also at the Jaipur Cricket Stadium, asking him to organize beverages. I settle for a cup of tea, though I’d have loved a glass of wine.
Navya is sitting in the same row as we are, a few seats away. She is with the wives and girlfriends and has Kairi for company.
Aaditha and I are here to support Navya’s beau, Nalin Shah, who is captaining the Rajputana Royals in the Premier League. He is batting on 44. Not the best time for us to leave our seats as far as appearances go.
Aaditha leads the way as we head to the rear end of the VIP Pavilion.
Just as we step into the hospitality area, I spot Kairi, and Aaditha, who is beside me now, grips my wrist.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask as Kairi wraps an arm around me in a hug.
‘Getting a coffee for Her Highness,’ she says, referring to my sister.
It must be said that Aaditha and Navya drink coffee at the weirdest hours, for reasons ranging from nerves to coping with boredom.
I introduce Aaditha to Kairi, who I make it a point to mention is engaged to a Kolkata industrialist. Aaditha nods; she is familiar with the Basu surname. Kairi apologizes for missing Ranibagh’s Holika celebrations. She was in Delhi to see her grandparents.
I nod. Kairi would’ve been there if she could.
‘I saw all the pictures, though, and you are looking every bit as lovely as you are,’ Kairi says to Aaditha.
‘Thank you,’ Aaditha says. Kairi’s words are heartfelt. I can tell by the tone.
Kairi’s coffee arrives, and she excuses herself to join her friend, but not before warning. ‘50 is coming up,’ she says, ‘if only the man would give Nalin a chance to face the bowling!’
‘Do you follow cricket?’ I ask Aaditha, thinking that it is a bit late tobe asking her that question.
‘Now and then,’ she says. ‘If you mean, do I know the rules, yes, I do, but do I know the composition of all these outfits, the answer is no.’
Aaditha turns to our server, who has arrived with our order. She takes one look at the tray and turns to me. ‘We both drink coffee,’ she says, looking suitably offended.
‘No,’ I say slowly, unable to resist the smirk, ‘you drink coffee, Aaditha. I drink tea.’
‘What? No! Since when?’ Her dark brown eyes have opened wide in an I-dare-you expression.
‘For more than a decade easily.’
‘Come on! You are only saying this because there’s just one cappuccino on the tray. You had a cappuccino in Bengaluru, in my house, and then again, the next day with me!’
‘I had a cappuccino with you, yes, but that was only because you didn’t give me an option.’
‘What? Noooo!’ She is laughing hysterically and almost drops her head on my shoulder.
It is a while before she looks up and asks, ‘Seriously?’
I nod. Never been more serious.
Aaditha can’t stop laughing. ‘Ved… veer, even I can’t be this ridiculous!’
‘So…’ she says slowly, ‘at my house, you were drinking tea; that’s why a teacup.’
