The Last Love Letter

Chapter 32

It was the day before Subah’s event in Mumbai, and Akash had decided to dedicate the entire day to giving final touches to her campaign and rolling it out in a phased manner. He had worked harder on it this time, and the fact that, between the first time and now, he had completed four more campaigns meant he had more experience. The additions included not just the press release but a few short videos and better-optimized ads that played seamlessly across multiple screens and formats, from desktop computers to smartphones and iPads.

At 10, he stretched his hands above his head and reviewed his plan. Subah must be in Mumbai by now, as she had mentioned in her last email. Akash had posted the press release the previous day and wondered if she had received any calls.

The exhibition was being opened by Mr Prakash Gaitonde, an octogenarian who was the toast of Mumbai’s art circuit. One of the most respected painters in India, Mr Gaitonde’s artworks adorned the walls of almost all the major museums of the world, in addition to the houses and offices of the rich and famous in India and abroad. Though Akash had read about him in the newspapers, he’d learnt more specific details about the great painter only when Subah had told him that Gaitonde would open her exhibition.

A few weeks ago, Akash had received a call from her but had ignored it and later written a short email saying he was busy. Even though he didn’t want anything to do with Subah outside the customer-client relationship that he shared with her, as a thorough professional, he wanted to give the campaign his 100 per cent.

For the last few days, Akash had also been grappling with the mysterious comment that his mother had made about Subah being similar to Nisha in many ways. Even though he had never asked his mother to explain why she had said that, the thought had been nibbling quietly at the periphery of his consciousness.
He wrote an email to Subah, enquiring if everything was on track and whether she had received any calls from the media. After sending the email, he walked across to the kitchen and prepared some coffee for himself. Sara was still at school, and his mother had gone to attend a kirtan at a neighbour’s apartment, the music from which he could hear even in his living room.

He sipped his coffee and closed his eyes, trying to run through all the steps he had taken to publicize the exhibition. Like last time, he had decided to use 20 per cent of Subah’s money on paid campaigns to target the maximum number of people who had listed art as their area of interest on their profiles on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

An hour passed without his receiving a reply to his email. But that was to be expected, as Subah would be busy running around and coordinating last-minute preparations. But it was important for him to get an update from her, so after some initial hesitation, he called her. The phone rang a few times and fell silent. She seemed really busy, so he sent her a text to call back when convenient so they could discuss the campaign and any new details she might have observed after reaching Mumbai. He signed the text ‘Akash, from Johnnie Sparks Agency’ to keep the communication formal.

His mother returned around 1. ‘Beta, here, take the prasad.’

Akash cupped his hands, and she spooned a bit of ghee-laden halwa on his palm. He ate it, then rushed to the washbasin to get rid of the grease.

When he returned, his mother asked, ‘How’s work, beta?’

‘Fine, Ma.’

Her eyes flew to the clock in the living room, and she got to her feet, ‘I should start preparing lunch right now; Sara will be home soon. How long was I gone?’

By the time he replied, she was already out of sight in the kitchen, so he answered loudly, ‘Almost three hours.’

He heard her exclaim in surprise and say something that he couldn’t make out, but he was sure it wasn’t important. He picked up his phone to check if Subah had replied to his text. She hadn’t. Once again, he turned his attention to the plan on his screen to see if anything was amiss or there was something that could be improved further.
Fifteen minutes later, Akash’s mom was back in the living room. ‘Son, I need to talk to you about something important.’

‘Sure, Ma.’

‘Please promise that you won’t get annoyed with me.’

‘Why would I get annoyed with you, Ma? I promise that I won’t.’ He raised his eyes from his laptop, adjusted his chair to look straight at his mother, and smiled.

‘Mrs Verma mentioned our landlord’s sister.’

‘I didn’t know Lucky had a sister. Is she his real sister? Because he’s told me more than once that he’s an only child.’

‘Not his real sister, his first cousin, who lives in Chandigarh. She lost her husband in a car accident last year. She’s just twenty-five and had been married for only six months. No children.’

‘What about her, Ma?’

‘She’ll be here this weekend to spend time with Lucky.’

Akash raised his eyebrows. ‘How strange. In the five years that we’ve lived here, I haven’t seen Lucky’s sister visit even once. Anyway, what has this got to do with us, Ma?’

‘Maybe she did visit and you didn’t hear about it. Mrs Verma said that Lucky and Paro are really close.’

‘Paro?’

‘That’s her name. Short for Parminder.’

‘Oh, okay.’

‘So…what she was suggesting was that when Paro is here, we should go meet her.’

Akash folded his arms across his chest. He was beginning to get an idea where this was going. ‘Ma, why are you doing this?’

When his mother spoke next, her voice was choked, and Akash didn’t know what to do or say. ‘Son, I’m your mother. I only want the best for you. You can’t spend your life like this. Everyone needs a life partner to spend time with. What is the harm in meeting her?’

Akash was on his feet, and when he answered, his voice was hoarse. ‘No, Ma. Nisha is alive—perhaps not in your world, but very much in mine. I can feel her presence; she is watching over us. Our love was forever, Ma. Please, let’s not have this discussion again.’ With that, he pushed back his chair and left the room, the chair crashing to the floor behind him.