All Strings Attached

Chapter Five

I tumble down the six flights of stairs as quickly as I can, feeling my sweaty feet dampen the marble.

I take a deep breath when I get to my father's office, and knock on the door once I've managed to gather what nerves can be gathered.

"Come in," he calls out, and sets his glasses on the table as soon as I step in. "Close the door behind you," he says, closing a brown file that he had been perusing.

I close the door and walk up to the table, preparing to pull myself a chair, but his voice cuts in. "Keep standing."

The last time I'd made my father mad was when I failed a Math test in tenth grade, and he made me stand and re-learn all the sums on the test until I did not make a single mistake. My tuition teacher wasn't allowed to leave until I learnt everything, either.

I remain standing as he assesses me, clasping his hands together as he looks up at me.

"I was wondering if you made a mistake out of innocence, or naïveté, maybe you're young and immature," he says, "but you're thirty-three. I see no immaturity, you have a full-grown beard, there's no mistaking you for being innocent. You've never been naive, Dhushyanth, not even when you were three and your mother tried to tell you the boogey man would take you away if you didn't finish eating.

"What would bring about this kind of insolence?" He questions. "Why would you get drunk as senselessly at a public gathering? Why would you kiss a girl if you're not sure how you feel about her?"

I purse my lips, wondering if I should answer his questions, or if it would only make him even more mad to hear me speak.

"Answer me," he commands, "did I in any way set an example to tell you that it would be okay for you to participate in whatever stupidities you young people do nowadays? Is that what it is? All a part of the hookup culture?"

"Naanna—"

"Shut up," he snaps, shaking his head in distaste. "I don't know what you think of yourself," he complains. "You think you can do whatever you like because of your family?"

"I don't," I answer truthfully, "I'm trying to do right by Sita—"

"If you were trying to do right by her you wouldn't have been caught kissing a girl you had no honourable intentions for," my father says. "I called Vishwanath. He was very smug, he denied having any pictures of the two of you."

"Do they not have any pictures, then?" I question, hopefully.

"Are you really that naive?" My father asks. "This isn't something he's going to accept money for," he explains, "he has a bigger plan in mind— your career is on the line. Your campaigns have been going so well for so long, this is going to ruin everything for you. And Sita! The girl already has too much attention she didn't ask for, you're going to add to her plate now! She's getting caught in the crossfire between some psycho news channel owner and politicians!"

I gulp, dreading what would come up next. "What do we do now?"

"We do nothing," my father answers, "the ball is in his court. He has to decide what to do."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, we'll have to rely on his intellect to decide he does not want to pick this fight," my father says. "There's nothing we can do for him right now."

"But we can't do that," I disagree with this plan of no action. "Naanna, we have so much on the line."

"You could marry Sita before any of this comes out, but I don't want you anywhere near that girl with less than honourable intentions," my father declares, glaring at me. "If I see you as much as breathe in her direction, I will have your head."

"Naanna—"

"Stop talking," he orders, his face screwing up with disgust, "I don't want to hear anything else from you."

"But this is my life! And Sita's life! Stop acting like I was harassing her, she was a consenting adult—"

"I said to stop talking!" My father thunders, making me flinch. "Are you listening to yourself?" He asks. "I do not care that she is an adult, I do not care that she consented. You are my son. I hold my head high when I walk into a room knowing that my sons would never do anything to tarnish my reputation and here you are— asking me to help you out because Vishwanath has pictures of you with a girl; my closest friend and ally's daughter at that!

"People say having daughters would exemplify your fears, you're constantly scared what she is going to do, what someone is going to do to her, but I brought you up to be the kind of man no father would think twice before accepting for their daughter. What did you do? You went and fucked around. You've brought shame to me.

"I had to call Vishwanath, who is the dirtiest journalist on the face of earth, who is always out to get us, and ask him if he had any basis to claim what he did.

"I don't know if Vishwanath will release the pictures, Dhushyanth," my father says to me, "I don't know if he has the pictures you speak of, I don't know if anyone will ever see them, but I've realised that I do not know enough about what you do to take pride in your achievements."

"Naanna," I try to explain, "Sita does not like me."

"Do you like her?" He asks, his eyes looking up at me with the final shreds of hope. My heart breaks for my father as I shake my head.

"I don't know."

I hear his fingers tap against the wooden table as I keep my head lowered. "How do you know she doesn't like you?"

"She doesn't like politics, or politicians—"

"Her father is a politician," my father argues.

"She doesn't like that I smoke," I add, leaving out the last bit, guiltily.

"Then quit."

"It won't change how she feels about something I'm striving to be," I mutter, letting that sink in. Why does she hate politics and politicians so much?

"We'll have to talk to Madhav about this," my father puts forth.

"We can't," I try to argue, "Sita does not want her parents to know."

"Would she rather they know when Vishwanath decides to telecast whatever footage he has?" My father counters. "We have to speak to her family."

"Let me speak to Sita first," I try to dissuade my father from contacting her family.

"I've already told you, I don't want you as much as breathing around her."

"Naanna, I understand what you're saying," I try to communicate, "but I need to warn Sita so she can prepare herself."

My father glares at me, his jaw tightened with anger. "Let her know, then. We will be going over to their house tomorrow."

What the fuck?

I wonder if Sita's worst fears are coming true, but I can't find my voice, or the words to question my father. I nod and leave his room, closing the door behind me.