There's Something About You Page 6

  ‘Hey.’ Trish sat up in bed. She hadn’t meant to get Nivedita into trouble, but the worthless has-been stuff was getting a little out of hand. ‘Watch it. And why all this drama anyway? You shouldn’t have forwarded it on to the editor without reading it first. Anyway, it’s barely three or four letters and it’s not due till tonight.’ She bit her lip and then sighed, closing her eyes. ‘Okay, listen. You want me to redo it?’

  ‘Redo it?’ Nivedita’s laughter had more than a tinge of hysteria. ‘What’s wrong with you? It’s already out in print. That vile … bile that you spewed was printed this morning.’

  ‘What?’ Trish froze. ‘Today is Wednesday. The metro supplement is out only on Thursdays.’

  ‘This column moved to the daily section weeks ago, you fathead!’ Nivedita wailed so loudly that Trish almost dropped the phone. ‘It was showing signs of picking up last month and we thought we’d try giving it a boost. Until today, of course, when you sabotaged the whole thing. And, more importantly, me!’

  ‘Hang on.’ Trish’s heart was racing as she rolled out of bed and hurried down the hallway, past her parents’ room, to the front door. There it was, the newspaper. She snatched it up and began turning the pages to scan them with her still-bleary eyes. The light was poor in the hallway, so she walked quickly to the drawing room, saying in a disbelieving tone into the phone, ‘You mean … you mean you didn’t even read what I sent you before sending it out to print?’

  ‘I HAD AN INTERN COPY-CHECK IT, OKAY?’ Nivedita was so loud this time that Trish’s mother, who was passing by to get to the kitchen, stopped and raised her eyebrows questioningly. Trish didn’t notice, though: her eyes were glued to the paper. She couldn’t believe it. Her sarcastic responses had actually been printed in the paper for everyone to see. She sank into her living room sofa as her heart sank into her stomach. Yes. All this was only too familiar.

  Dear AMA,

  I’ve got a major problem. My girlfriend still talks about her previous boyfriend and it drives me crazy. They were together for four years, and I was her best friend at the time. I kept telling her it would never work out. Her family saw it that way too. After they finally broke up, we got together, but I’m really not that sure she loves me the same way. I’ve told her a number of times that I don’t want to hear about him any more, but she asks me why things have changed because we used to talk about him earlier. I always thought that we were meant to be together, but I’m not that sure any more. It’s been almost three months since they broke up and she still goes on about it. How I can help her forget about him?

  Frustrated and Jealous.

  And there was her response, right below it. Trish groaned softly as she read:

  Dear Frustrated and Jealous,

  Of COURSE three months is more than enough time to get over a relationship of a mere four years. There’s no way she should still be talking about him, or even thinking about him for that matter. With the several years of brainwashing that you’ve been painstakingly inflicting on your so-called best friend, and with the aid of her equally manipulative family, it’s a wonder that she didn’t abandon that loser earlier.

  I say you’re completely justified in feeling frustrated and jealous at this point. You waited so long, and swooped in before anyone could get a chance. Your timing was perfect and you’ve worked so hard. And for what? This girl obviously hasn’t turned out to be completely amenable to your manipulations, and that’s clearly a product defect. Did you get a warranty card with this doll? Either way, I say you send her right back to where she came from and find someone else.

  Good luck with that, okay?

  Much love,

  Amy (I think AMA sounds too much like Amma, don’t you?)

  ‘Oh dear god,’ said Trish.

  ‘Yes. Dear GOD!’ screeched Nivedita from the other end. ‘Well done, Amy. I’m so going to screw that idiot Pervez. Brainless little twit. She messaged me saying that there were a few minor edits, but she had taken care of those.’ Nivedita’s voice dropped to a hiss. ‘I trusted you, Trish. I figured it was you and that I could take it as a given that it would be all right. I had no idea you had so much bitterness inside you. I should have known. But now, you’ve got me up shit creek.’ She raised her voice again. ‘I’m going to get fired for this.’

  ‘Now, listen,’ Trish said quickly, the words running into each other as she tried desperately to make amends. ‘I’m sorry this happened. It wasn’t meant to be this way. I can talk to the editor – Zee? – if you like and I’ll explain it was my fault.’

  ‘What difference will that make now?’ Nivedita’s voice was harsh. ‘You carry no credibility in the system. You never did, not even when you were heading the digital content department.’ Her voice became colder. ‘I was doing you a favour by sending some freelance work your way. There are a dozen people I could have asked to do this shit column for me. Instead, I reached out to you … for this. I guess I should have stuck to never trying to do anyone else a favour. Well, I’ve learnt my lesson.’ She paused for dramatic effect and ended her long speech with a final spiteful hiss. ‘Thanks a lot.’

  ‘Look, is there anything I can do? I feel terrible.’

  ‘Well, maybe.’ Nivedita’s voice was now dripping with sarcasm. ‘You should just have yourself a nice cup of, I don’t know, chamomile tea?’

  Even though she pronounced it ‘shamomile’, it still stung. With a muffled parting shot that sounded a lot like ‘fat bitch’, Nivedita hung up. Trish continued to clutch the phone numbly for a while, her head spinning and her eyes glued to the column with the words that had never been meant for public consumption printed right there in the newspaper with the highest circulation in Mumbai.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ Trish’s mother asked curiously. ‘Why aren’t you eating? You didn’t have breakfast either.’

  The two of them had been sitting in silence at the lunch table. Ba had already been given his meal in his room earlier. Trish was just picking listlessly at the food on her plate.

  ‘Not hungry,’ Trish said.

  Her mother swallowed another mouthful of dal-rice and said, ‘Starving yourself won’t help you lose weight, your body will just start to store more fat. Besides, you should cut down on dinner, not the earlier meals. And focus more on exercise. Your problem is clearly slow metabolism, so you must work on that if you’ve finally decided to do something about it.’

  Trish’s mind had been fully occupied with thoughts of what Nivedita would be going through at the office because of her prank; but now she was brought back to the present by her mother’s words. She said sharply, ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve just been blessed with a different type of metabolism, Trish,’ Ma went on. ‘Never put on excess weight in my life. Except, of course, almost twenty kilos when I had you, but …’ She abruptly ended her sentence and looked up at Trish.

  ‘Go on,’ Trish said. ‘Tell me that was also just my fault, because maybe I was too fat even I was born?’

  Her voice was getting louder and Ma looked fearfully in the direction of the bedroom. ‘Shhh,’ she urged. ‘Ba will hear. Let him sleep right now, he needs his post-lunch nap.’

  ‘What he needs is to get out of that room,’ snapped Trish, not bothering to keep her voice down. ‘Why is he always shut in there these days? He’s losing it, and you’re resisting the idea of taking him to a new neurologist. For all we know, he really needs physiotherapy or counselling or something. He’s getting worse lying there, confined in that room all day.’

  ‘You’re going to upset him,’ her mother said with a note of warning.

  ‘You’re already upsetting him.’ Trish was quivering with anger. ‘Why are you being such a control freak with him? At least think about what’s best for him now that he’s in this state.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Her mother’s voice was cold

  and furious.

  Trish knew she was taking out her frustration on her mother, and had said more than she had meant to say. It wa
s true that she had felt that Ma had always tried to dominate Ba and keep his attention on her, almost resenting the fact that Trish and Ba were close. Closer than Ba and her, or closer than Trish and her? Maybe both. But it didn’t matter now. Ba was barely in his senses and they needed to be united in their effort to make him comfortable.

  ‘Just please stop making jabs about my weight now,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Half the time you’re trying to stuff me with your unhealthy laddoos, and the other half you’re on about how I should work off the fat.’ She added defiantly, ‘I’m too old to care about the fact that I’m fat.’

  Her mother didn’t look like she was in any mood to stop the fight. ‘If you watched your lifestyle, the occasional indulgence of a laddoo wouldn’t be an issue. And it’s not unhealthy, it’s made of desi ghee.’ She paused. ‘And why don’t you care about your weight? If you recognize you have a problem …’

  ‘It’s not a problem, it’s just the way it is,’ Trish interrupted through gritted teeth, but Ma wasn’t listening.

  ‘… then you should do something about it.’ Now Ma’s voice was loud, and it was Trish’s turn to worry that Ba might find it disturbing. ‘You’ve lost your job, and you have no prospect of finding one. You’re sitting around getting fatter and more lethargic by the day. You don’t want us to talk about marriage, you don’t want our help to arrange something. Well, I don’t even know what we could arrange, with you in this state. You never want to hear what your own mother has to say about important issues. And if I do say something, you call me a …’ Her voice broke and, to Trish’s annoyance, tears sprang into her eyes as she finished, ‘control freak!’

  She turned away and dabbed at her eyes. Trish sighed and threw up her hands. Control freak was an insult? Compared to lethargic fatty with no job or marriage prospects? Ma would win today – as usual. She always did this in moments of high emotion between them. She knew Trish never cried. But Ma herself had no qualms about turning on the tap, especially when it looked like it would play to her advantage. Such as now.

  Trish sat there, silent and defeated. Her mother’s shoulders were shaking as she sniffled in the martyred manner of the constantly wronged. She was still crying softly to comfort herself when Trish finally got up and walked down the hall to Ba’s room and peeped in. She could only see the back of his white-haired head sticking out from under the sheet. He was still asleep. Good. She shut the door firmly to make sure Ma’s crying wouldn’t wake him up. She then walked back past the living room, ignoring the sobbing that was a few decibels louder now for her benefit.

  She just headed towards the front door and let herself out of what felt like a madhouse – one where she was both inmate and warden.

  7

  Dear Amy

  The seaside breeze was cool against Trish’s hot cheeks as she stalked along on Bandstand. It had been a very trying morning, starting with Nivedita’s call and her mother’s haranguing. Apart from feeling sorry for what she had done to Nivedita, she realized only now that her impetuous decision had caused her to cut off a potential source of revenue. Small as it may have been, she actually badly needed some freelance work while the job search went on.

  Akanksha was trying to reach her, but she ignored the calls. She couldn’t take another request to bond with Lisa so soon. What was with Akanksha, anyway? What did she have to do that was so important these days? She didn’t have a job. Trish had to admit to herself now that the one thing she’d always believed that she had that good-looking, rich, lucky Akanksha didn’t have was a career – but that was now in the past. She glanced to see another message from Akanksha: ‘Where are you? Call, please. Can you have Lisa over?’ She pressed down hard on the delete button.

  Akanksha really was fortunate to have Vinay – he wasn’t just a rich, hardworking businessman. He was courteous, gentlemanly and kind too. Trish knew he was kind from the way his eyes crinkled up when he smiled. From the way Akanksha described it, almost complainingly, he tried to spend as much time as he could with Lisa when he was home. He travelled a great deal of the time and tried to compensate by being an involved father when he was around. Trish marvelled at the similarity between her situation and Lisa’s – both had mothers who probably meant well at some level, but unconsciously competed with their own daughters. Hopefully, Lisa would grow up to be a lucky, competent woman who could take care of herself. Trish had always considered herself at least competent but was now beginning to believe that luck mattered much more. And

  looks, maybe.

  She ignored the people walking past her at varying speeds on Bandstand. In Mumbai, people minded their own business, which was what she liked best about the city. Only occasionally would she come upon a gaggle of men who stared at her as she passed by and whispered to each other. She would pretend she didn’t see them; they certainly made her wish she were invisible.

  She walked around for a long time to let off steam and her feet were now tired. She approached a bench and sat down heavily, breathing hard.

  Her mind was still racing as she looked straight ahead out at the rippling waves. Usually, watching the waves helped calm her down, but today her thoughts were coming in crashing waves themselves, one on top of the other:

  No job, no job prospects. Fat bitch. Just screwed up possibility of regular freelance work. Couldn’t even help you get an arranged marriage if we tried. Bile vile. Trishna, Trishna, where are you? Will have to rent a much cheaper place.

  The buzzing of her phone interrupted her thoughts. She stiffened when she saw who it was. She contemplated not answering. Then, taking a deep breath, Trish picked up the phone and breathed, ‘Hello?’

  ‘Well hello there, Trish darling.’

  What was she playing at now? Why did she sound so happy all of a sudden? Trish pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at the caller’s name again, eyebrows drawn together.

  ‘Hello? Trish darling?’ Nivedita’s voice floated from the phone. ‘Are you there?’

  ‘I’m here. I take it you didn’t get fired for today’s column, then?’ Trish enquired dryly, trying to mask the relief she was feeling.

  ‘Au contraire, ma cherie.’ Trish made a face at the atrocious accent and pronunciation, and Nivedita went on. ‘They

  loved it.’

  ‘Who loved what?’ demanded Trish, unable to believe her ears.

  ‘Well, the Twitterati. They tweeted all day to the editorial handle about how fabulously refreshing today’s AMA column was; it was clear, they said, that sometimes what was required was a slap in the face. The same worn, whiny issues being treated with a well deserved dose of sarcasm made for the most interesting reading of the day, and they’re really looking forward to tomorrow’s column now! Congratulations, darling. Your little gamble paid off. You have yourself a column!’

  Trish closed her eyes, unable to fully register this. ‘Are you serious? The editor liked it?’

  ‘Listen darling, I just told you the who’s who of Mumbai loves it, so do we. Now, listen, I’m sending you today’s questions, you have to get back by tonight, and—’

  ‘Whoa, whoa, hang on, Nivedita,’ Trish protested into the phone, a scowl on her face. ‘I didn’t say I would do it. I only wrote that column as a joke, I can’t answer people’s actual letters like that.’

  ‘What?’ Nivedita shouted so loudly that Trish instinctively looked around to see if anyone was listening. No one was.

  Trish tried to keep her tone neutral ‘I’m not going to do it. You were right, it was vile and sarcastic and I didn’t enjoy reading it myself today. I didn’t mean to make fun of anyone’s problems. After all, how would those guys feel when they

  read it?’

  ‘Who cares how they feel?’ Nivedita was getting all agitated again. ‘A much larger number of readers derived amusement from your answers. And besides, the big E thought that you made basic sense in all of them. If the people who wrote in have half a brain, they’ll take your advice, and if they have less than half a brain – also a
distinct possibility, of course – they won’t get the sarcasm! And in the meantime, the intelligentsia like you and moi’ – Trish gritted her teeth at the pretentious French again – ‘will be happy to read both sappy question and snappy answer. See? It’s a win-win!’

  ‘I don’t know about that, Nivedita,’ Trish said.

  ‘Hey, you tried to screw me over with this, remember?’ Nivedita’s voice rose a couple of decibels. ‘And you said you’d do anything to help.’

  ‘That was when I thought you were in trouble!’ Trish retorted.

  ‘Well, I’ll be in trouble all over again now if you refuse to do this!’ Nivedita screeched. ‘What’s wrong with you, Trish? This is the chance of a lifetime. You’re going to get a regular daily column. That’s a couple of thousand bucks a day.’

  Trish froze. ‘What?’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Nivedita said quickly. ‘Look, we figured you’d try to bargain, and so the Big E told me to tell you: you can start at three grand and we’ll work it up further depending on the response going forward, okay?’

  Trish did the math in her head. If it was really going to be a daily and it would hardly take up more than a few hours, it was actually pretty good money. It would certainly help tide over these difficult times and she could always continue to look for a regular job. She bit her lower lip and considered it.

  ‘Well, well, WELL?’ Nivedita said impatiently. ‘What do you say, what do you say, we don’t have all day. Of course,’ she added craftily. ‘If you don’t want it, I could take a crack at it myself. I’ve got the sarcasm—’

  ‘But not the sense,’ Trish finished for her.

  ‘What? What was that?’

  ‘I said, because we’re such good friends.’ Trish emphasized the last word, putting her newfound sarcasm to practice. ‘I guess I’ll do it.’