Naanaji was like that. He brought the house down with every entry. It had taken Trishna, my assistant, some getting used to, but I had heard him from my mother's womb and these were the moments that made me glad I had my mother's thick skin. My regrets only lay with the fact that along with inheriting her strengths and good looks, I had taken after her weaknesses too.
"What have you been thinking allowing that piece to be published? Do you know what the news is speculating?" Naanaji sat down in the diwan next to mine,"Its going to be another scandal and that is something this house can do without"
"Adaab Naanaji," We still followed the old house customs at my apartment whenever he visited and I didn't mind them when it was required only until he stayed with us. With my father being a devout hindu and my mother an orthodox muslim, I was really in no man's land when it came to religion and customs.
Trishna brought in tea for the four of us. In addition to Naanaji, my manager - Kamal Diwedi, a wiry framed man in his 40s and my father's friend's son - was also there today to discuss other things besides the obvious - the Kundra exposure the media was calling it.
After serving tea, I took up a few papers from my manager to sign when Naanaji's temper shot up again, "Here, listen to this," he said and raised the volume on the television.
The anchor walking outside a film studio, spoke on, "When one would expect the hot headed star to smash cameras and throw mega size tantrums while asked for a comment on the recently published piece in Fading light, a memoir of the 70s leading star, Mridhula Kumar, that explores his possible connection to Neetu Roy, wife of the master filmmaker of the same era, Subodh Roy, a surprisingly patient Rishabh answers that its all a gimmick staged to draw in the media. Take a look..."
The screen cut to RK in a touch-up session while a few minions surrounded him, involved in arranging his appearance for the shot, "Well, I haven't read the book. Do you have one?" He turned to the reporter and her voice was faint in the whizz of the background and he continued speaking, without caring for her answer, "Every work of entertainment art: be it books, music or film, requires some elements that will keep the audience's interest till the end. For a work of non-fiction, they have to add that much more glamour when its someone's forgotten world that the reader is entering. It's a gimmick. They sealed the deal with a puzzle piece that will make the headlines, thinking any news is good news for them", he shrugged, "You bought the book didn't you?"
With that my Naanaji switched off the television and put his head in his hands, "I'm sure he is going to slay us to pieces," he sighed, "That crazed drunkard has never made that much sense. He is saving his energy for another day"
There was a beat of silence in the room, when no one spoke.
"He was never drunk," the words slipped out of my mouth before I could give it thought; an old memory kept locked, under my irritation for the circumstances, surfaced; however my eyes gave away nothing and I asked Trishna for the book to be bought to me. It was high time I read the piece myself.
I had the book publisher and my manager go over the details with my mother's other best friend - also Dilip uncle's sister, Maira Khan - who was the main authority in making the decisions on what got included and what would be left out. I did not dare to enter my mother's world, raw and exposed as they were. Her demons were around me too and I didn't have to read them to realize them in the vivid imagery with which my mother adorned them on paper.
After going through the short piece, I oddly sensed an agreement with what Rishabh had said on television.
"Naanaji, There are N and S who are Neetu Aunty and Subodh Uncle. May peace be upon their souls, they both have left this world to give us the truth. So has mom or D - Dalip uncle, whose obsession, I never understood in mom, when she was married to father. And its a story as old as cinema itself - they were co-stars who fell in love, he was already married and in the end she was left with heartache and a lifetime of brooding"
"That leaves Neetu aunty's sons," she paused to catch her breath, her pitch rose higher as she worked out the logical scale of her argument "who in my opinion are the real two people who should take offense to this, but they too have no objection in us publishing this piece. Then there is the chap that mom refers to, but we made inquiries to find out about this person. Manager uncle went through log books from the studio to find out his whereabouts, so that we have his written permission as well and what do you know? Indeed, there was a new assistant, but not from Shimla as mom claims. And I'm not sure where the gap arises. It's a diary, for godsakes, not a court ledger."
As I rested my case, I reclined back, folding my feet to my side, "This piece was easy fodder for the rumor mill. It could be anyone in the industry who is targeting RK and made up that story about the chap's name being Kundra. Have you considered that?" I folded the book and placed it on the side table, "Moreover, there could be many Kundra's in Shimla. Everything, is circumstantial at best and if you want me to call Rishabh..."
Shit!
"RK," I amended quickly, "and tell him that the 'Kundra' allusion was the press' own making, I will be happy to do that..."
Naanaji leaned forward as if he wanted to share a word of caution with me, "There is no need to call him. Ever! Is that understood?" It was a warning, he sounded angry even, with my suggestion, but then his ire could have very well been directed at Binoy too. Naanaji never understood what I saw in a lanky christian entrepreneur who was far removed from the world I had grown up in. But that was besides the point when it was me who was marrying him. Marrying to try my hand at a normal middle class life, where glitz and games had no place in it. He'd had me when I heard that he did his own laundry.
"You wanted the money, now take it and pay your fiancee's debts. I will close my eyes and think its dowry for your wedding. Don't ask for more, because your trust fund rules are not changing until I'm alive. That said, Kamal and I will take care if any legal suites arise from this..."
"There will be no cause for that, Naanaji," I added, sounding haughty for having neatly managed that part of the deal, "In the copyrights clause, I have made the publisher to bear all suites for intent, since we have not been involved in modifying content, where necessary"
It wasn't like he was going to give me a pat on my back and I haven't expected one ever since I came jumping, with the shield they gave me for securing first place in the singing competition and he'd shook his head, given me a smile and continued walking behind my mom on her way to her shoot.
He nodded in silence and took a nankatai biscuit with his tea and I asked Kamalji so that I can finish up with the papers that needed my signature.
He was a frail man with square glasses and the only person who still used my given name for as long as I have remembered, for I was Sana for everyone else. Handing me the bulk of papers again, he picked up one of those checked hand kerchiefs that no one really used these days and blotted his neck, "After your wedding, you have to come visit us in India often, Madhu. I can't travel to France. I don't know the language or their culture"
I waited for a flush to creep up my cheek while my gaze wandered to the floor; when it didn't show up as was expected of a new bride, I said, "Of course, you will all come and we will go see the Eiffel tower..."
"First, I would like him to buy a house and get out of that apartment" Naanaji sounded patronizing, "Then we will all come and visit you and we can go round every corner in Paris..."
"Naanaji..." I called to show that I had taken offense, but he ignored my tone and continued as he always did, sighing as he spoke, "We could have always agreed to either the Kapoor's or the Khan's proposal and you would have lived like a queen here..."
There had been another K...He didn't know that.
I let out my breath and decided against delving into matters that were from another life.
"Kamalji, if we are done with this, I would like to stay in and take care of other things," I said and when none had other thigns that needed my attention, I shifted to my room.
I could use all the time they would give me. After all, there was a wedding to be planned.
Book Talk
