APRIL 23, 2021
EPISODE 21
Raghav was speaking: “The looks between you and Bindi Aunty suggest you might well poison her before you poison me. What will you tell your in-laws when you reach home? What will they say to their son’s widow consorting with the local gangster.”
Pallavi couldn’t help but smile at Kaku’s sobriquet ‘Bindi Aunty’—and his accuracy at guessing her own earlier thoughts.
The young man—their server—came to the table with the third cappuccino Raghav had ordered. It was in a take-away cup.
Raghav asked him, “Do you know the saree shop around the corner?”
The server nodded.
Raghav said, “Take this coffee to the shop. It is for a young lady named Krishna. Tell her that her Didi will be back in a quarter of an hour.”
Pallavi had wondered why Raghav had ordered a third cup. She had not imagined it was for Krishna. And she was slightly ashamed that she had not thought of taking back a beverage for her. It was a sweet act.
And Pallavi could not be ill-mannered—even to those who were so with her. It made her actually physically uncomfortable to not thank when gratitude was warranted, so when the server sped away, she said, “That was kind of you.”
Raghav didn’t acknowledge her words and announced, “Now to business. I hold the lease to your shop. I can shut you down today for unpaid rent unless you agree to do what I say.”
The abrupt shift from an act of kindness to an overt threat came so swiftly that Pallavi was momentarily confused.
“But Mr Jagdish owns the shop—?” she floundered.
“—I bought the property from him. That is the detail Miss Krishna got wrong. I don’t own your business—but I do own the space from which you conduct business,” he elaborated.
Pallavi couldn’t understand why he would do such a thing. Why would he purchase it? It was their modest little shop—one she had naturally grown to develop affection for—but a four hundred square foot space on the lower end of Nampally Road was nothing to Raghav Rao. The man who called Falaknuma Palace home and owned half of Sagar Lake—why would he buy it—?
“You bought the space to have leverage over me?” she asked, her eyes fervently seeking a denial of what she had just said.
“Yes.”
Pallavi’s breath caught. “What do you want of me?” Her mind was leaping from one wild idea to another.
“You have recently hired a designer—?” he asked.
This was about Kirti?
“Yes—” she said, hesitatingly. “Why should she interest you?”
Raghav said, “Her mother has a serious medical condition. I wish to pay for her expenses.”
Pallavi recalled Krishna mentioning about Kirti’s mother’s dialysis appointments.
“Yes, I understand her mother goes for dialysis,” Pallavi stated.
“You will pay her a higher salary than agreed upon—and I will make up the difference—” before she could ask what she wanted to ask, he answered it, “—They will not accept my help directly.”
“Because of how you earn your money?” she asked.
A muscle twitched in his cheek, and she could feel strong emotion emanating from him—emotion held in careful check. “Yes,” he said.
Pallavi responded, “I can’t help you.”
His eyes narrowed, and he stated, “You are not being offered a choice in the matter.”
Each word was pronounced with precision to leave her in no doubt that he was prepared to enforce his threat.
Pallavi was not angered by his manner—she was sensitive enough to read that there was something in his petition that he felt strongly about. She could see this was not a straight-forward act of generosity, like tucking a large money note into the pocket of a café server.
She said, her voice, deliberately softened, “You misunderstand me. I would like to help. I would love to help you to help them—but Kirti is not under a salary contract with DSE.”
His dark brows drew together in a question.
Pallavi said, “As my new landlord, you know I’m barely managing to pay rent. I can’t afford a designer—so Kirti and I have agreed on a joint venture. I’ll produce her designs and sell them—she will receive half the net profits. Her renumeration depends entirely upon how many sarees of her design we sell, you see.”
He leaned back in his seat, raking a rough hand through his hair. Their server approached the table and said that Krishna had thanked him and that her Didi should take her time.
Raghav ordered two more coffees—but Pallavi said, “No, not for me. I really must get going.” She reached for her purse.
“Stay where you are,” he ordered. To the server, he requested sparkling water.
As soon as the server left, Pallavi said, in crisp tones, “Mr Rao, I may be your tenant now but I won’t be bullied—so don’t order me around.”
Raghav exhaled a ragged breath, and he said, “I just need another five minutes with you.”
“Five minutes.” She crossed her arms and shifted her gaze to the bookshop below, but she could feel his attention on her face.
When the server returned with the water, Raghav gave him some more money. He poured two glasses and left.
“Look—you are an intelligent woman,” Raghav said, “renegotiate your deal with her. Tell Chelli—that is, the designer—that you found the funds to put her on a salary. It’s a more favourable arrangement for her.”
Pallavi was silent and then she spoke. In Marathi.
“Speak a language I can understand,” he commanded.
“It’s Marathi. I’m quoting Baji Rao: Do not enter alliances until you are acquainted with the designs of your neighbours.” Pallavi continued, “You are Kirti’s brother, aren’t you?”
He said nothing.
Now it was Pallavi’s turn to laugh. “She mentioned you to me.”
“Did she?” His attention was engaged.
Pallavi explained, “She told me my sarees were old-fashioned—an opinion you share, no doubt—and then she immediately apologized. She said her Amma was afraid she was turning out to be as blunt-spoken as her brother. You are that blunt-spoken brother, aren’t you?”
“So they discuss me. That is something, I suppose.”
Pallavi saw in his expresson a softening. And despite her heart’s warning not to feel tenderness towards this man, she couldn’t help it.
She sipped her water, and then spoke. “I’ll find a way to get those funds to her. How much extra money do you want her to have each month?”
He named a figure. It was high. Then again good health-care was exorbitant and it was clear that he wanted his mother to receive the best.
It would be tricky. How would she explain to Kirti that two days ago she couldn’t afford to hire her as a designer and now she was offering her such a high salary?
But—the cause was worthy—and Pallavi was confident she would find a way.
But to him, she said, “It seems only fair to me that if I help you, you ought to help me too.”
He gave a laugh to indicate what he thought of her audacity. “I’m helping you by not throwing you out of your shop for months of unpaid rent,” he stated.
“Wait, Mr Rao—a few minutes ago you called me an intelligent woman—so don’t treat me like I’m an idiot now. It is to your advantage that my shop remains open. If I shut down, Kirti has no job. And then how will you funnel those funds for your mother’s healthcare?” she asked, tilting her head.
He was looking at her with an amused smile on his lips. “What do you want? A reduction in your monthly rent? Fine. Let’s negotiate.”
She scoffed. “That would be too easy a negotiation.”
“What? You want me to not charge you any rent? Should I stock up your shelves for free as well? This is not negotiation. This is extortion.”
“You should be familiar with extortion,” she snapped back. And then immediately regretted her words. Insulting him would not make him amenable to her objective.
But he was not offended. He laughed, “You know what gangsters do, do you?”
“No,” she admitted. “But I would like to be like you.” She hesitated, because this request would cost her pride, “—I want you to teach me—not how to be a gangster, of course—but how to be as successful as yourself.”
If Pallavi had not been so preoccupied with her own embarrassment in making this request, she would have enjoyed seeing the surprise that flashed across Raghav’s eyes.
“What can I possibly have to teach you, Baji Rao?” he asked, giving a full-throated laugh.
Pallavi ignored his barb.
She said, “My dream is to make DSE a national brand. Just like you did with Jayati Jewellers. You have over two hundred showrooms across India. I want that.”
Raghav refilled her water glass and said, “That was the work of fifteen years. It didn’t come overnight.”
“I’m not looking for overnight success,” Pallavi said. “But I need guidance. To make the correct decisions today to eventually take me there.” She added, “I’ll be honest—I’m in a worse position now than when I took over the shop a year ago. Baba doesn’t know that the shop could collapse any minute. The shop is his entire legacy. I want to make it a success even though he resists my ideas.”
“He resists yet you persist?”
She retorted, “You persist, don’t you? You clearly want to help your family though they resist you.”
“It’s different.”
“How so?” she asked.
“Chelli and Amma are blood.”
“Aayi and Baba may not be blood but they are my family in every way that matters,” she stated.
She had one last card up her sleeve. “Look, Mr Rao—if I succeed, Kirti will succeed with me. Today she may be the designer of a failing little shop on Nampally Road but in a few years she could be the lead designer of a national brand. She is talented and if I go far, I’ll take her with me. In helping me, you would help her. And that is the best gift a brother can give a sister—to make her self-sufficient.”
Raghav’s eyes rested in hers. It was a long moment before he spoke. “I’ll guide you—but Chelli must never know we are involved. She must not even know I am your landlord. If she learns the truth you’ll lose her as a designer—and I’ll lose my only motive for helping you. Ardham ayyinda?”
His agreement sent Pallavi’s heart leaping with excitement. This was real hope for the future. This was the beginning of her new life.
“Nobody will know—not even the Deshmukhs,” she promised.
“Are you prepared for all this—?” Raghav asked.
“For what?”
“This ambition in your eyes—I recognize it. I can help you succeed—but success comes at a price. You might lose the family you set out to help.”
She realized he was giving her a way out. But he didn’t understand her life now—so how could he understand that she was willing to risk everything.
She said, “True, I could remain as I am. Stay on this current path. Try and make our little shop profitable. Hope for more likes on Instagram. But that life sounds small and unendurable to me. You told me the other day that I don’t belong here. And I resented it. But you were right, Mr Rao. I don’t belong here. I was born for much more.”
Edited by JalebiJane - 3 years ago
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