-CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT CONTINUED-
The Owner
Khushi unnecessarily checked her phone for the umpteenth time, hoping to see at least one text message. But her home screen was as blank as ever, carrying absolutely zero notifications. It was the first time Arnav had gone this long without messaging her.
It must be one hell of a bachelor party.
"Khushi!" came Lavanya's voice.
She absent-mindedly looked up to see Lavanya glaring at her.
"Did you hear anything I said?!" she asked. "Oh forget it! I will just do it myself."
"Do what?"
"Pay one of the strippers to give Anjali a lap dance," Lavanya replied, looking around the strip club - the venue of Anjali's bachelorette party. "What do you think about the one in the corner over there?"
Khushi didn't even bother to turn. "Yeah, sure... I will be right back Lavs. I have to use the bathroom."
And she left without even listening to Lavanya's reply. She regretted her escape, however, as soon as she made it there.
Khushi silently entered the washroom, her thoughts preoccupied to barely notice the middle aged woman fixing her make-up in the mirror. She absent-mindedly washed her already clean hands and was about to head back, when-
"You are Garima's daughter."
She froze, her hand inches away from the door handle.
"Khushi... right?"
Khushi whipped around, her eyes scrutinizing the lady. Dressed in a long red maxi dress, with flowing tresses and spindly hands, she appeared both plastic and snobbish. It took Khushi a few minutes to register her and when she did, she was filled with bitter dislike.
It was Juhi Roy, the current wife of Shashi Joshi.
"Oh come on," Juhi replied sarcastically. "Don't give me that look. It's been... what, twenty years since your father married me? Get over it already."
Khushi clenched her hands. "He is not my father."
Juhi chuckled; something was very off about her. "Of course he is. You have his nose, his forehead... and in a few days time, you can start telling people about it too."
"Are you drunk?"
"Yes, but the point is, you can have your useless father back. Consider it my parting gift."
Khushi kept mum, failing to understand the blabbering of the woman she detested so much.
"... your hopeless mother will be ecstatic of course," Juhi continued. "She has been dying to get him back for years now. You know I never really got that. I mean I know she was heart broken or whatever it is, but pining for the guy even after twenty years? That's just pathetic."
"What do you want?" Khushi cut in, gritting her teeth.
Juhi snorted. "As if you can even afford the coffee I drink."
Khushi crossed her arms squarely across her chest. "Actually I can. Not just your coffee, but your whole life. What are Joshi and Sons' shares worth again? Ten rupees? Or did it become five? It's so hard to keep up nowadays, especially since they are dropping so fast."
The smirk fell from Juhi's face like a bowl of hot coals. "Don't talk about things you don't understand! The shares dropped because of your father. Once I get rid of him, they will pick up in no time."
It was Khushi's turn to laugh. "Is that seriously your plan? Kicking Shashi out of the company to get the investors to invest again?"
"As a matter of fact," she replied, with an air of confidence that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Yes. If it wasn't for my stupid father, I wouldn't even have gotten into this mess in the first place."
"Your father?"
"Yes, because twenty years ago the family property went to the son, even if he was illegitimate. If I didn't step in, my father would have written everything off to his step-son!"
Khushi was appalled. "You married Shashi Joshi to get your father's company?!"
"What's so shocking about that? It's not like Shashi was a freaking saint. He married me for the property too. The only difference is I know it and he doesn't."
"So you basically wanted a lapdog," Khushi said, seeing the puzzle she missed for so many years. "Someone who would do all the dirty work and still lie at your feet?"
"Yes, that is exactly what I wanted," Juhi answered, turning back to the mirror. "Shashi was the only person who my father would listen to... I don't know what he did, but my father was smitten by him. So I had no choice but to love him and marry him."
Khushi was stunned into silence. How ironic was is that her father, who outsmarted everyone in his quest for money was being outsmarted himself?
"I gave him everything on a silver platter," Juhi muttered, shaking her head. "All he had to do in return was to take care of my empire. And he f*cked it up. But enough is enough... I'll do what I should have done yearsago. He won't even know what hit him."
Khushi took a deep breath, her mind reeling from the onslaught of information. "Why are you telling me all this?"
Juhi looked at her. "Oh honey, I thought you could use the heads up. Prepare your mother for the good news. Her husband is finally coming home."
The last bead of patience holding Khushi together finally popped free. "My mother is dead."
Juhi froze. "What?"
"My mother is dead," Khushi repeated, her tone sinking into the deepest of loathing she had ever felt. "Because you and Shashi Joshi left no stone unturned to make sure she was nailed into a coffin. She had a target on her back the day you thought you could use a married man to get your father's empire, and she was dead by the day her husband went through with your plan. All these years, she was merely breathing, not living. So for all I care, you and Shashi Joshi can rot in hell. Oh wait, I forgot... you are in hell.
Good luck trying to convince the investors that you had no role in the scam that your husband pulled, because from everything I have heard today, it is obvious that your lapdog doesn't do anything without you telling him to."
Giving her one last look of absolute disdain, Khushi marched out of the bathroom, her head held high. If it was a few months ago, the news of Shashi Joshi's impending doom might have brought her immense happiness. She would have relished at the thought of seeing the man who ruined them all, literally out on the streets, with no where to go.
But today, she didn't.
She felt no happiness; in fact she felt nothing at all. What happened to Shashi Joshi no longer concerned her. After sixteen long years, it seemed as if she was finally free of her obsession with the man who gave birth to her.
"A martini please," she told the bartender, pulling up a stool for herself.
Khushi looked around the almost packed bar to see Lavanya and Anjali giggling over something, oblivious to her absence. Satisfied, she checked her phone once again. There was still no message from Arnav.
"May I?"
She looked up to see a man in his late twenties gesture to the vacant seat beside her. His face shaven, his shirt tucked in, he appeared handsome and very out of place at the bar.
"I'm not interested," she replied, absent-mindedly.
"Err... I just asked to sit down."
Khushi set down her drink with a sigh. "No, you didn't. The thing is, I have done this way too many times to not know how it ends. What starts of as a simple "may I" is going to turn into a whole lot of questions about me and my life. After enough drinks, it will end with you offering to drive me home, at which point, I will realize this is not a good idea after all. So let's save ourselves the effort. I am not interested."
The man stared at her, stunned, before shaking his head and sitting down on the stool beside her anyway. "Wow... do you turn down all guys like this or am I just an exception?"
Slightly irritated, Khushi angled herself towards him. "Look... Neil? Let's call you Neil. You look respectable, girls would fall for you at less scandalous places than this. I think you have a bright future after me, so just stop trying."
He scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. "My name is not Neil."
"I know, but you seem like a Neil type."
"What's a Neil type?"
"I just told you. Someone who looks respectable and well mannered. Though I can't figure out why you would be desperate enough to pick up a girl at a strip club. Unless, you were trying to put on a show."
The man stared at her, bewildered. "It's not even been five minutes and you already judged me to be naive, inexperienced and gay?!"
Khushi shrugged and took another sip of her drink. "What else do you expect me to believe? What would a straight guy be doing at a male strip bar?"
He rolled his eyes. "So stereotypical," he replied, before pointing to a blushing girl on the stage, who it seemed was in the middle of getting a lap dance. "That's my best friend. And also a bride to be. Turns out even straight guy best friends can't escape from throwing a bachelorette party."
Khushi looked at him with scrutiny. "Do you love her?"
He laughed. "Of course I love her! I have known her since I was ten. But I don't see her as my wife. And thankfully, she doesn't see me as her husband."
"That's hard to believe."
"But very real. What's your excuse for being here?"
Khushi grudgingly pointed to a still giggling Anjali. "She is also a bride to be. And I decided to throw her a bachelorette party."
The man seemed to ponder that for a minute. "Did the maid of honor bail? Is that why you got stuck with this task?"
"What? No! Why would you say that?"
He calmly leaned on the bar counter. "Because you haven't spent more than ten minutes with her. Best friends and maids of honour would usually be stuck to the bride, taking a billion embarrassing photos."
"Look who is talking."
The man laughed. "Well you don't have the risk of getting a lap dance from an unwanted sex, do you?"
Khushi grinned and ordered another drink. "Okay fine," she said. "She is my fiance's sister first and then my good friend. But I am nonetheless the maid of honour for this one occasion."
His eyes widened in surprise. "You are engaged?!"
"Why is that so hard to believe?"
He set down his drink. "You aren't wearing your ring."
Khushi looked at her bare fingers, mum.
"Unless there isn't a ring," he continued. "In which case I am being a complete arse."
"There is a ring."
"Oh! So what's the problem then? Is the size not right?"
Khushi snorted. "I don't like wearing it because I want people to see me as me, and not as the owner of the ring."
A line appeared on his forehead. "Either your boyfriend is very influential, or you don't like being tied down."
"Or both."
The man was surprised.
"My fiance is very influential," she explained, looking at her lap. "He can make things happen without even lifting a finger. Of course, he doesn't because he is good. He has a sense of morality, a conscience if you will. He will never give up his principles and responsibilities. He is, just, incredibly good."
"So the problem is you?"
She sighed, slightly irritated. "Why is me not wanting to be tied down a problem? I mean is it really wrong for a girl to want other things that get married and have children?"
"Of course it's not wrong, but-"
"-but what?" she cut in. "Why is marriage the only end to a relationship? Why is a girl who doesn't agree with that get automatically labeled as insensitive and underserving of a relationship altogether?"
A pointed silence followed her words.
The man set down his glass and took a deep breath, before saying in a very calm voice, "I am sorry you feel judged. I don't think you are insensitive or undeserving. In fact, I don't think there is anything wrong with a girl not wanting to get married. But that's not what it is, is it? The problem is not that you are going to be his wife."
He paused. "The problem is that you are scared... Scared of how much you love him, scared of how dependent you have become. And you don't like it. You don't like having your life controlled by someone other than you."
It took her a moment to process that. "And you got all that by talking to me for ten minutes?"
"Yes," he replied, still very calm. "That is my diagnosis."
A line appeared on her forehead. "Diagnosis?"
"Being the bride's best friend unfortunately does not pay the bills," he answered with a smile. "I am a psychiatrist by profession."
"So you are a shrink?"
He pressed his lips. "I wouldn't call it that. It's more like I am the person people come talk to when they have trouble" -he tapped his temple- "understanding what's going on up here."
Khushi couldn't believe what was happening. Of all the people she could have met that night, she bumped into a shrink. It was as if the universe was making its message crystal clear.
"Okay fine," she finally said, deciding there was no harm in talking. "Assuming everything you have said is true, what should I do?"
"Everything I said is true," he interjected. "You know that better than anyone else."
She didn't reply, and instead waited patiently for him to continue.
"My treatment is quite simple actually. Can you live without him?"
"Wha-"
"No, I am not quoting a cheesy romance novel. I am asking you, can you physically breathe without him? Can you live knowing that you can never touch him, or talk to him or kiss him again? Can you live with the emptiness that will take over once he is gone?
Khushi stared at him for a full minute, choosing her words carefully. "My mother died in my arms. Literally. I thought I could never breathe again without feeling like I'm being crushed into pieces."
"So?"
"So I can breath now!" she exclaimed incredulously. "I learned how to survive, how to get over loosing someone!"
"But that's not what I am asking," he answered, staring directly into her eyes. "I am not asking you whether you can handle death or grief for that matter. I am asking you something very simple, primitive almost: can you live without him?
Khushi came up blank. No matter how hard she tried, she didn't have an answer to give him, simply because she didn't know. She couldn't imagine a world where Arnav ceased to exist. It just wasn't possible.
The doctor smiled knowingly. "So," he said, with an air of victory. "What exactly is it that you are scared of when he already has the power to control your every breath?"
She was dumbfounded.
"It seems a little silly, doesn't it?" he murmured. "That you are worried about the little pieces he is taking over, when in reality, he owns it all?"
Khushi averted her eyes.
Yes, all of it did seem silly. So silly that she couldn't even wrap her head around it. There was no way she was so dependent on Arnav. No way that he controlled so much of her life. She knew better than to believe that she was scared.
"Do you want another martini?" It was the bartender.
Khushi shook her head. "I'm good. Thank you."
Then slipping him a few notes, she stood up to leave. The doctor was watching her with a small smile, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.
"It was nice meeting you," she told him.
"The pleasure was all mine. Maybe the next time we bump into each other, it's at a less scandalous place with a much lighter conversation."
Khushi smiled half-heartedly. "I look forward to it."
And she departed without wasting another second. Bidding goodbye to Anjali and instructing a surprisingly sober Lavanya to bring her home safely, she swiftly left the club.
Her fingers with a mind of their own dialed a familiar number, her heart craving to hear his voice. But there was no answer. She tried again and again, until she had no choice but to give up and call her brother instead.
"Meeti?" Shyam answered on the first ring.
"Where is Arnav? Are you guys still at the farmhouse?"
"No, Arnav left a long time ago. He said there was something at work he needed to take care of. What's wrong?"
"He is not picking up my calls."
Silence.
"What?" she asked, finding her brother's quiet very strange. "Did he tell you something?"
Shyam cleared his throat. "No, he didn't... I think he just needs some time to himself Meeti. Let him be for tonight."
Khushi bit her lip, realizing with a jolt that her brother was also keeping secrets from her now.
"You there?"
"Yeah," she mumbled. "And okay."
She hung up, her shoulders falling in disappointment. She didn't know how much longer she would be able to bear the cold treatment.
Turning up the radio, she sped through the deserted streets, when the hourly news caught her attention:
"The accident on Agra highway is still under investigation. For those of you just tuning in, a black BMW and a red lorry collided together around 10:30pm today on the express highway from Delhi to Agra. Official statement from the Police reads that the lorry driver, male, aged fifty was killed instantly on the spot. The driver of the BMW hemorrhaged under the overturned truck for ten minutes before finally succumbing to death. Sources at the site say that police are having a difficult time identifying him, due to extensive facial injuries. Officials are asking for people unable to get in touch with a relative who was known to be driving on the highway to come forward immediately. The deceased is being described as male, aged approximately thirty, wearing a white shirt with a blue blazer-"
Khushi didn't hear the rest for a strange silence filled her ears. Images of Arnav scurried across her eyes as a jumble of deranged voices spoke:
Akash and I, along with a few other friends are taking Shyam out of the city to my farmhouse in Agra, echoed Arnav's voice.
Her own voice followed: Wear the white shirt with the blue blazer.
Her brother's was the last: Arnav left a long time ago.
Dread cold as ice began to freeze her lungs. Panic flooded her mind as the walls around her collapsed. She stared at the road in the front of her, trying to find a rational explanation. But there wasn't any. The strange words of the doctor hauntingly came back to her:
Can you live without him? Can you physically breathe without him? Can you live knowing that you can never see him again, or talk to him or kiss him? Can you survive with the emptiness that will take over if he is not there?
The answer suddenly wasn't so hard anymore.
No... no, she can't.
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Anupamaa
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