Recap: Lata and Ronny find their old vibe as they sit by the club pool before they head to Tilo’s, which, following the demise of Max the parakeet, is wearing a very sombre look. The plan for the day after: A visit to the Dalma Wildlife Sanctuary.
Back in her room at the guest house, a couple of floors above Ronny’s, Lata Ghosh stood by her suitcase, laying out her clothes for the next day on the sofa. It was an exercise that always calmed her nerves. Not that she needed any calming down per se, she told herself, she was just a tad psyched, that was all.
Instead, she focused on the colours. Did they work?
A pale yellow tissue sari she’d bought many years ago in Jaipur and left in Calcutta for Manjulika to dry-clean and stow away, and a red Raw Mango blouse, with its stylish Peter Pan collar. Afterwards, she extracted a pair of dull gold skinny heels that she wore only with her saris and placed them on the floor. Upon the dresser next to the sofa, she kept her minimal accessories: a vintage red barrette with faux rubies she’d bought from a car boot sale in Bath, a sort of secret lucky charm, and a tub of her favourite postbox red lipstick.
Lata stepped back to admire the colour palette. The buzz she’d been feeling all evening became less acute.
Afterwards, she hopped into the shower — her blow-dried-in-Kadma hair stuffed into a shower cap that housekeeping had thoughtfully provided — and changed into her night clothes — soft, well-worn cottons that smelt of Nirma washing powder overlaid upon her regular London detergent. She rubbed peppermint balm on the soles of her feet, and carefully — she didn’t want anything oily near her hair — she went back to the bathroom and lathered her hands clean. All the while humming distractedly.
Jolene, Jolene, Jolene... Joleeeeene...
It had been a weird day. And so long, so filled with disparate things — Ronny’s keynote, the liquid lunch of merciless teasing, the bird funeral, the invitation to Dalma Wildlife Sanctuary that sounded far too much like a date — that it almost felt as though Lata had been in Jamshedpur a whole week and not barely a-day-and-a-half. Ma would be pleased at this latest development, she thought tartly, not that anyone was going to tell anyone.
Lata had, as it happened, called Manjulika’s cell from Tilo’s house, earlier in the evening but found it switched off. There was nothing surprising about that though. Manjulika often forgot to charge her phone — or charge the power bank which Lata had got her — and mostly it was Nimki who provided the updates. But Nimki had gone to attend a great-grandniece’s annaprashan in the village and would only be back tomorrow night. Hoping to get lucky, Lata now dialled the land phone. No luck.
Wait, wasn’t today Ma’s (feminist) book-club day?
On book-club days, sometimes she stayed back to get dinner with her feminist friends.
Lata climbed under the quilt and propped open the laptop to go over her presentation for tomorrow. Always a conscientious preparer, she had put together a series of slides that shared her chief learnings from the 15-odd years of being a management consultant. She’d planned a narrative arc that traced her own journey, part anecdote, part insider knowledge, but now, suddenly, as she reread them, the slides seemed too dry, too factual, too verbose.
And really, a PPT? Wasn’t that too rehearsed?
Lata sighed. She hated making last-moment changes.
In light of her realisations, though, shouldn’t she make the whole affair a little more interactive? How about she divided the entire class into groups, let’s say every group is assigned the name of a well-regarded consulting company, and given real-life cases? How about that?
Energised by this whimsy, Lata began to rework her entire presentation. And the more she thought of tomorrow’s group as a consortium of young management consultants she needed to break in rather than students she had to address in a classroom, the more fun this exercise became.
Maybe it was a good thing after all, being impulsive, scratching things out at the last minute, pushing the bar/ tearing hair? Maybe the Ronny model was not so bad after all?
Around half-past eleven, she was finally done.
Checking her notifications, she found that though her mother hadn’t called her back, Aaduri had called several times, and then, presumably not having got her, left a slew of messages.
So Hem has come up with a brilliant strategy for my talk. I am going to get these MBAs to give me ideas to get more hits on the website, isn’t that cool? Crowdsourcing! I mean I am going to rant about declining journalistic standards in the age of clickbaiting for 5 minutes but then get them to give free ideas. Good?
“How very management consultant of you, Aadu,” Lata thought, scrolling down.
I see my talk is at the same time as yours, which is annoying because I wanted to come listen.
“Clearly, there’s no need,” Lata typed.
Anyway, after that, I am going with Hem to Ranchi to meet his brother’s family. I know, I know. You want to come along?
“Umm. No. I have plans.”
Anyway, I don’t know if I should get suspicious that you are not picking up the phone. If you are getting back with Ronny and doing stuff you are not supposed to, make sure I am the first to know. (Although we cannot let my assistant Tiana find out. She would go right ahead and publish some nasty stuff that will get a hundred thousand hits and maybe even get her a promotion! She is serious, that kid. I didn’t think millennials had that kind of hunger but clearly I am way too prejudiced.)
“Illumination!”
Okay, fine, you are obviously too busy to check your messages. Good night. See you tomorrow. I hope you’ll come to Ranchi. I don’t know how I agreed to all this family visit kind of stuff but apparently I did and there’s no backtracking. xoxo
***
Tap, tap.
Tap, tap.
“I know you don’t want to create a ruckus, Duma, but I do think we need to knock louder,” Goopy whispered.
Duma banged the door a smidge harder.
“Munni!” Goopy called out now, “Wake up, Munni!”
There was a muffled sound on the other side. Footsteps padded towards them uncertainly and then ceased. “Munni, it’s us,” Goopy said, his voice now ringing out clear like a bell. Duma winced noticeably.
The door opened.
Looking more confused than annoyed, Lata peeped out. “What’s up?” she asked the cousins sleepily, “What time is it? What’s going on?”
In the split second, though, that separates the before and after in our lives, their sombre faces and half-mast eyes faced hers, in the little pool of blue that the night light had cast in the corridor. Lata’s words dried up and a kind of alertness prickled through her body. Her eyes became hyper-observant, things began to leap out at her: Duma’s pink Nehru jacket, the mud-crusted shoes Goopy wore, the three doors behind them and four doors in front, the flower arrangement on the console table, the paisley pattern of the wallpaper.
Somewhere far away, a motorbike whizzed past.
“What has happened, Dada?”
Her voice was an odd combination of softness and steel.
“Munni,” Goopy said finally, “We have to leave for Calcutta right away. Tilo has arranged for a vehicle. You must get dressed right now.”
***
Ronny Banerjee ended up oversleeping.
It was a glorious day outside, all windy and golden, Tilo’s flowers showily performing a concerto for the visiting dignitaries. Around eleven, Ronny, cursing himself roundly and sporting a nick from shaving in a hurry, left the guest house in search of Lecture Theatre-201 in the New Academic Block. Across the lawns and up and down various flights of stairs — he was too impatient to wait for the elevators — he asked for directions and resolutely looked for the room, refusing to get into conversations with people who had heard him speak the day before.
Finally, 201.
A group of students were milling around.
“Is this where the management consulting thing is happening?”
A girl with a mass of curly hair and a winking nose ring replied. “Sorry, Sir, unfortunately that session was cancelled.”
“Cancelled?! But why?”
“No idea,” Curly hair’s friend, bald guy in a blue suit, replied, “We’d been looking forward to it. I enjoyed your talk yesterday. I am writing a script. It’s based on a mind-blowing idea. I am already beta-testing the concept and looking to pitch it to a consortium of investors who are visiting our campus next month. If you don’t mind, can I show it you?”
Ronny looked at him blankly. Mumbling, “Sure, sure, why not,” and not meaning a word of it, he walked away.
Tilo. Tilo would know what was going on.
***
“Ronny!” Tilo said happily, as he entered her expansive offices. “I was just about to call you! Look who’s here!”
Ronny’s eyes widened in confusion as Mimi hopped towards him in a preposterous hot pink hoodie. “Surprise!” she squealed.
Though his view was blocked by Mimi’s bouncing form, behind her he could hear a gentle tinkly laugh. Ronny blanched.
(To be continued)
