Recap: Ronny does a shock-and-awe number with his keynote address. First he stuns Tilo with its title and then has the audience eating out of his hands as he tells them what he really feels about making a living out of art.

And who might this be?” Sir asked, removing his bifocals and narrowing his eyes, as though contemplating an exotic rabbit that had suddenly appeared upon his desk by a remarkable sleight of hand.

As it happened, Tiana Mitra, sporting a pink headband with tiny bunny ears, had slunk in quietly while Sir, dapper in his three-piece suit, had his eyes on the giant flat-screen TV mounted on the wall and she had been forced to take the only empty chair available, the one right under Sir’s nose. Tiana, fresh-faced and eager-beavery in her white jumpsuit, struck a sudden jazzy note among the gathered group of hacks who were all 40 and above, and who all wore expressions of utter world-weariness as the news droned on in the background.

“This, Sir, is Aaduri’s newest hire,” Sumona Munshi, the entertainment editor, quickly explained. “She’s representing our...” her hands flailed about as she looked for the words, “our online self today, since Aaduri and Hem are both away.”

“Oh, I see,” said Sir, looking distracted at the mention of Hem.

Hem was his right hand. Hem was his Boswell. Hem rarely took leave. Without Hem, Sir felt quite lost. “So this young lady will help us go ‘bacterial’?” he commented drily.

Tiana looked up at him in half-horror and saw that his eyes were twinkling. She relaxed, and said good-humouredly, “I have some ideas.”

Everyone laughed. The ice was broken. The sports editor took over, followed by Sumona, and Tiana was not called upon to speak again.

Later that day, Sumona found Tiana texting by the coffee machine. She said hello and unwittingly peered into Tiana’s phone. “What’s that?” she asked in spite of herself.

“Signal,” Tiana said importantly, “I am working one of my sources. You do know that WhatsApp’s all compromised, right?”

***

While Tiana was trying to set up a confidential meeting with a source who could be useful in her quest to go ‘bacterial’ — she’d been utterly charmed by Sir and was now going to use ‘bacterial’ herself — her boss Aaduri Bagchi was sitting in the sun, in the sylvan surroundings of the Beldih Club in Jamshedpur, sunning her toes and trying to provoke her best friend, Lata Ghosh, into speaking what was on her mind, now that tongues had been potentially loosened by the several cosmopolitans they had downed with lunch. But Lata was staying mum. Since the sun was now in her eye, Lata had covered part of her face with the beige cashmere scarf that had been wound around her neck in the morning, and her cheeks were pink and flushed. She looked even more beautiful than usual, Aaduri noted, as she leaned back in the chair and maintained an air of perfect stillness.

Bappa had thrown a lunch in Ronny’s honour at the Blue Ginger restaurant and after the food and gossip had been consumed in courses, the party had now spilled out onto the sun-dappled emerald lawns. Ronny was somewhere inside still, no doubt being fawned over by the very people who had composed his epitaphs when they heard he’d quit his advertising gig to make documentaries and stay at his parents’ in Calcutta.

“I miss Pixie,” Lata said, finally. (Half-an-hour ago, Pixie had been extracted from the melee by Nisha and taken home, kicking and screaming, to take a nap.) Aaduri, who had little patience with kids and littler patience with Lata’s other friends, rolled her eyes.

“Hello girls,” Duma appeared in their range of vision, resplendent in his white kurta and pink Nehru jacket.

“Munni,” he said, pulling up a chair next to her, “You know how there are people in America who actually propose to their partners at the Superbowl? I used to wonder what that felt like. Now you can tell me.”

Aaduri snorted with laughter and nearly fell off her chair.

“Oh shut up,” Lata said, pulling the scarf further down her face.

“No, really,” Duma pulled the damn thing away, “What did it feel like?”

“I really don’t know what you are yammering on about, yes, he’s my ex, and yes, he gave a speech where he mentioned love in a passing comparison to art...”

“And yes, after that he came and sat next to me at lunch in a terribly couple-y fashion and stole chunks of mutton from my plate,” Aaduri added.

“And yes, Goopy and I as your appointed guardians here are expecting to be seriously spoken to this evening by the young man in question. Filmmaking is not exactly a stable job, but apparently the father has a government pension, the mother still works, and he is an only son.”

Lata got up in mock anger and turned towards the restaurant. (Actually, she was really thirsty and needed a glass of water.)

“Stay, stay, Lata Ghosh,” Aaduri called out, but she waved Aaduri’s words away.

Up ahead though, was Ronny Banerjee, star of the day, smiling gently as he loped towards her. “You left this behind,” he said, handing Lata her bag.

***

The truth was that for as long as Tiana Mitra was in college in Phoenix, Arizona, she and Mimi Dasgupta couldn’t stand each other. But as it can happen sometimes with frenemies, when their paths crossed in Calcutta recently Tiana and Mimi found that the memories of their college years had been broken down and reconfigured in their heads by the radiance of nostalgia. It resulted in a strange kind of kinship. Well, maybe kinship was pushing it a bit. But a new kind of alliance had developed, one that was mutually beneficial. Tiana got her first byline — and Aaduri’s approbation — with the story about Pragya’s Instagram account, something that Mimi had drawn her attention to in the first place and, in turn, after that story, Pragya realised just how valuable Mimi’s inputs were to her social media posture. Soon, they became each other’s “source”.

After planning around their schedules for days — Tiana had work, ugghhh, while Mimi had gym, Pilates, kick-boxing and film screenings — they had finally managed to meet up that evening for a drink in a hip new pub that Mimi had chosen after careful deliberation.

“I’m going to have to run, though,” Tiana said, moments after they’d mwah-mwahed in the air, squealed appropriately and complimented each other (Tiana said she couldn’t believe how thin Mimi was looking — Mimi confirmed it was the weed — and Mimi said Tiana must tell her which website she had ordered her furry white jumpsuit from, like immediately). “My boss is travelling, and I am basically holding down the fort,” she added in explanation.

“Isn’t your boss that Aaduri lady?” Mimi asked, vaguely waving at the waiter, “Our nemesis Lata’s BFF?”

“Is Lata our nemesis?” Tiana asked, contemplatively, “But I liked her so much. Even though I was just a reporter at her cousin’s wedding, she treated me like a guest, fed me, etc.”

“You don’t know anything, Tee,” Mimi said darkly, now turning her attention to a waiter who had appeared with a carafe of water and two glasses, “Scotch for me, please.” The waiter turned to Tiana. “Diet Coke,” Tiana said apologetically, “I have to go back to work.”

There was a momentary pause in the conversation as both girls looked at their phones simultaneously.

“So why’s she our nemesis?” Tiana prodded, having cleared her notifications.

“Because I think she’s super jealous of Pragya and is making a play for Ronny. Apparently, he is her the-one-that-got-away.”

Tiana digested this. “I thought you wanted Ronny and Pragya to break up?”

“Not now,” Mimi conceded, “Let that damn film happen first. Also, she will be broken-hearted. She loves him, the poor fool. She is pining away because he is in Jamshedpur giving some speech.”

The liquor arrived with a platter of assorted kebabs.

“Mimi,” Tiana said softly, “Lata is in Jamshedpur too. Aaduri shared a selfie on Insta this afternoon.”

Mimi drew herself to her full height, which, to be honest, wasn’t too threatening because she was diminutive.

“And...” Tiana took out her earphones, “I think you need to hear his speech.”

The two huddled upon the table and listened carefully over the loud music.

Afterwards, Mimi thumped her empty glass on the table, motioned for another and said, “It’s war.”

“Totally,” Tiana agreed vehemently, terribly cheered at its ‘bacterial’ possibilities.

“To be fair, Lata’s claims are older,” Tiana said, gingerly chewing a bread stick.

“That is true,” Mimi agreed, and despite the grim portents that war implied, the girls began to giggle unstoppably.

(To be continued)