Love At Bombay #YourStoryIndia ✔

Chapter 36

NOT EDITED.  

~Playlist for this chapter~
Expectation - Lauren Jauregui.

For all my Hindi Listeners:
Allah Duhai hai - ( Cover by ZAYN)

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My creative brain had conjured up many scenes overnight about how things would go wrong once I stepped into Basu's house.

But none of them met the reality.

I freeze at the door as I stare in the seasoned dark brown eyes of Mr. Basu.

Abesh Basu is one of Mumbai's leading business tycoons. A top brass that rose from the ashes, bulldozing his way up. His media-savvy attitude, hardheaded answers, and astute judgment were what made him a prominent figure in the business world. How could anyone miss him in the crowd? There was an entire Vogue article dedicated to him a year ago, with my palm-size photo of his face stamped on the front cover. I remember feeling so inspired after reading the struggles and hardships that he faced.

Meeting him, in reality, isn't any less thrilling. Draped in sharp Armani black suit with glinting metal Rado watch on hand, his shrewd eyes assess me as I stand at his door with the word 'awkward' pasted on my forehead.

"You can come in, child unless you don't mind the obstacles set in the room. I am just trying to stay fit." He gives me a wary smile at his failed attempt of joking. 

I blink twice and attempt to crack a small smile as the jitters in my stomach loosen a bit. Their living room is a mess. It looks like a tornado had hit the room. Cushions, empty pizza boxes, Pepsi cans lay cold on the floor and the center table is vomiting papers, laptops, and all type of stationery. The OCD in me itches to make a run in the room and clean it inside out.

"The stapler is in the left drawer of the TV unit," I state as I tip top around the dirty plates and empty soda bottle. 

"Huh?"

"I suppose you are searching for a stapler? A device which is used to fasten up papers together and makes a click- click noise?" I mimic the actions of the stapler with my fingers and Mr.Basu's dimples deepen.

"You are familiar with my house. I am Abesh Basu, Saumya's dad."

Funny how he assumed me to be his daughter's friend. If only he knew.

"Seems like you are not so familiar with your house and kids. I am Ahana Mehta, Rajeev's friend. Is he at home?"

A feeling of bitterness sweeps in my heart as I recount all the memories when he hurt his son and daughter. The only family he ever had but never cared for. Now, watching him eyeing me with mild curiosity and surprise, I decide that he is the most lonely man in the world. I spot small blemishes in him, outer and inner, which a person would miss at the first look.

Deep wrinkles speckle his forehead and dark, heavy bags cover his eyes. His shoulders sag forward in defeat as his brown eyes regard me with sharpness, willing me to break under his command. My heart bleeds sympathy for the man who lost his wife at such a young age but all the feelings are wiped clean as I recall the consequence of his grievings that his children faced.