There’s no call or message, but I have a notification from an hour ago that says Aaditha’s phone is available to take calls. She has obviously been notified, too.
Navya is staring at me.
‘We need to start planning for the wedding,’ Mother says. ‘Everything has to be perfect – not just big and beautiful but completely meaningful. This is a north-meets-south wedding, so everything hasto come together nicely. All the ceremonies must showcase our great traditions, but we must also make the Gowdas feel at home and highlight all their customs.’
Father nods before turning to his daughter, who is back to adjusting her broken glasses.
‘We’re not having two weddings in December,’ she says, looking at Father. ‘Nalin and I will wait until next March, before the start of the Premier League. Let’s give Aaditha and Brother a moment to enjoy their wedding.’
I can barely think, never mind feel. My insides are ravaged by a fire that is burning everything in its wake.
18.
Aaditha
Coming Apart Beautifully
Aaditha’s Journal
Bittersweet Brew: Notes from the In-Between
Was out all day yesterday. Mohit and I left for Kodagu early in the morning (4 a.m.) to look at coffee estates.
The plan has always been that COFFEE Before Books & Bras would eventually grow its own beans. Our search has narrowed down to two properties, and we’re considering both. This drive was a last-minute decision; one of the estates just came up in the market, and I thought it was best to make a move.
I’ve been meaning to tell Vedveer about this, take his advice even. Maybe I’ll chew his brains on it tomorrow now that I have the details.
Meanwhile, things are happening.
So, we finally know why Appa went for this proposal… to serve his political ambition. I, of all people, should’ve known. Like Appa, I dream big. Like Appa, I don’t know when to stop; we keep going and going. There’s always the possibility of reaching the top.
Appa probably sees the Rathores as a passage to political prominence on the national stage. He doesn’t need to win an election in the north; his ownbrilliance and popularity here are enough, and he knows that. What he needs is approval in the corridors of power in New Delhi. That’s where the Rathore nod might come into play.
I was so busy questioning why the Rathores would be okay with an alliance that’s so culturally distant from them, I forgot to ask the same question of Appa (all in my head, of course; I wasn’t knocking on doors, asking questions).
But the question about the Rathores still sticks: Why did they agree to this proposal? The truth is, they approached us. So why?
The newspaper report raised the question halfway through the story and answered it in the very next line. The alliance is linked to a friendship between the fathers.
What friendship? Alia and I were never introduced to this family. No mention was ever made of the Rathores of Jaipur, growing up or even in recent years. The Rathores of Jaipur were part of the curriculum; the section was called The Royal Families of Independent India, and the Rathores had an entire chapter to themselves.
I only read the article late last night after Alia alerted me to it. I wonder if Vedveer has read it too.
My heart feels heavy, like a boulder is sitting on it.
I lean back in my seat and listen to the rain for a bit.
It’s almost 9 a.m., and the rain is behaving like a rebellious intern, showing up early and throwing everyone off.In Bengaluru, even the skies have a routine. A respectable drizzle around 6 p.m. or 7 p.m., just as half the city is trying to get home without becoming soup. Sometimes, we get a little early morning drama, but the skies usually clean up their act before we step out for work.
The rain is manageable when we start out, but en route, it comes down so hard we actually stop for twenty minutes.
I am appreciative of these Ikea wheels – that are carrying physical weight while supporting the heaviness inside me. There’s a knock on the door. Before I swivel around in my chair, thinking, Whoever it is, I will ask them to come back later, the door opens.
Vedveer – in blue denims and a buttoned-up navy shirt, face wiped clean of a smile – is standing there.
I shake my head and exhale. In that moment, I’m grateful that it is him and he is here. I don’t know why. My face reflects gratitude.
‘Hello,’ Vedveer says. His voice is rough, like the weather. It is a plain hello, no Aaditha… which is how he always greets me, saying my name like he is memorizing it.
