Chapter 1:
"Why do you wear a watch that doesn't work?"
Arnav looks up from the file he was reviewing and swallowed.
A colleague, a family member or a peer would have received a glare, a scathing
non sequitur, a segue or even a feigned ignorance. He respects the man who is
curious about the state of his watch and doesn't find it in himself to brush it
off.
"It belonged to my father. My mother wore it after he passed
away. It stopped working the moment she died. I have been wearing it ever since."
Arnav shrugs out a nominally honest reply and goes back to reviewing the file
on the table.
"That's...oddly philosophical and pathologically morbid," the
elderly gentleman replies. Arnav doesn't say anything further. They both pick
up the discussion on inventory. Arnav shifts his left wrist to feel the
heaviness of the watch.
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"We are hosting a charity this Saturday. All proceedings go
to the city's cow shelter." Anjali is excited. He can tell. Her husband Shyam,
hovers in her orbit. Arnav doesn't know if that's love or protective bubble or
a voyeuristic perspective. He doesn't comment on Shyam. Shyam is one subject
that brings Arnav to his knees since Anjali's affection for her husband is
borderline obsessive. Probably unhealthy but Arnav never comments on that.
"Okay." Arnav replies. He doesn't have time for this. Also he
is too tired to argue.
"Will you be bringing Lavanya?" Anjali asks, a teasing
smile, glint in her eyes and exuding kind of hope that doesn't have a room in
this world.
"Lavanya and I are taking a break. Why will I bring her as a
date?" Anjali's obliviousness can be easily mistaken to childlike innocence. It isn't, he thinks wildly. Anjali doesn't want to have confrontations
with messy, broken, flawed things. Even relationships.
As expected Anjali's smile falters. "But you love her." And
with that, Arnav's leftover calm evaporates.
"So?" He asks dangerously. For a change Anjali is quiet.
Arnav is about to breathe a sigh of relief when she begins her chagrin.
"So it is expected
and wished by all your family members that you bring her into the fold whenever
we invite half of city's elite. So we
are all hoping we don't have to dodge questions about your marriage or your
sexuality or your philandering ways and actually talk about the shelter for the
cows, and the problems it is currently facing." Patches of pink appeared on
Anjali's cheeks - a clear outward expression of her anger with matching thorn
in her voice. And in these vicious moments Arnav truly thrives.
"Or I can donate the money you make from this charity right
now and cancel the party entirely. My accounts department will have one less
thing to work on for the week." Arnav rarely bluffs. Anjali never seem to remember
that. She always thinks I am her baby
brother and not thirty something old man, he thinks in indignation. Have I become a shadow of a man she thought I
would be?
Rage reigns in her eyes. Arnav finds smug satisfaction in
his. Anjali thinks it's a stalemate. Arnav knows it is his win. Even when she
loses an argument, she refuses to see the problem in her thought process. She isn't oblivious. She is blind, his
mind supplies. He doesn't agree with that assessment.
"Your boyfriend is
waiting for you in your study," she grinds out. Arnav isn't done yet.
"You should've shown him to my room." His response is
callous. The verbal barrage does nothing to him anymore. He isn't entirely
immune to harshness. He simply doesn't care anymore.
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He finds Aman with an open laptop, huge mug of tea - Arnav
is sure the teabag is stolen from his personal collection, a brand new Sudoku
book and a frown.
"Come on in. Help yourself to some of my precious tea
collection that I thought I had hidden well." There was laughter in Arnav's
voice. Aman's mere presence lifted his mood a great deal. He thanked the God
that he didn't think existed for giving him a best friend he didn't believe he
deserved.
"Don't be a Scrooge Arnav. Sharing is caring, boyfriend." Aman unnecessarily makes a
noisy slurp of his tea. Arnav bursts into laughter. The tension in his shoulder
reduces as Aman gives him a fond look.
"Anjali is hell bent on proving that you and I are dating."
Arnav takes the tea mug and takes a sip. His eyes involuntarily close when
undercurrent of jasmine mixed with a hint of orange bursts on his tongue. The aroma
flattens the line on his forehead. When he opens his eyes, Aman is watching him
with a steady gaze.
"Will that be so bad?" Aman asks, not for the first time.
Arnav's quietness is a reply that Aman has received twice in
the past. The way he has been falling, Aman wonders if he will ever hit the
ground.
"Let's talk money," Aman says pulling his laptop and
offering a gentle smile to his friend. The relief that floods in Arnav's eyes makes
Aman take an urgent breath to mollify the torment this predicament had brought
him.
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Arnav walks the streets he once walked his father. He is dressed
up to his eyeballs that scream "money". The cracked sidewalk is an ugly
companion to his pristine shoes. He is avoiding the party at his house and everyone
there. Aman was out of country while Lavanya had politely declined. Lavanya
wasn't avoiding Arnav. She was avoiding his family. He didn't blame her for
that since he was doing the same.
His shoes gathered a healthy layer of dust and grime as he
walked the older part of the city, its old buildings now woven with modern
ones. The view settled the rattling in his ribcage just before he tripped over
a crack. He chuckled at his clumsiness hoarsely as a sturdy hand reached out to
study him.
"Are you okay?" A man asked, watching Arnav's hobbling feet.
Arnav nodded and smiled a thanks.
"You can sit there, in that shop, for few minutes to rest
your toes. They wouldn't mind," the stranger offered a kind advice. Kindness,
like compassion was a rare commodity in this world. It was probably the first
time it was offered to him without strings attached in several weeks. The thought
churned his stomach.
"Thank you." Arnav's absent reply doesn't bother the
stranger as he walks away.
Arnav looks up from his feet and glances at the shop. A
startled sob like laugh escapes his throat and makes his eyes wet.
WATCHING. That's
the name of the shop that sold and repaired watches.
His wrist burns with memory of his father's watch. He ignores
it as he wobbles inside.
TBC
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