Chapter 29 : Point Three
Arnaud’s Point Of View.
“Coffee-voffee,sugar-vugar,paper-vaper,
News-vews,clock-vock,time-vime,run-vun
Train-vain,pass-vass,late-vate,class-vass
Friendship-vendship,bonding-vonding, fun-vun.”
Seated in my king sized bed in the luxurious penthouse suite, I am watching this particularly interesting Bollywood movie, called English Vinglish on the Hotel LED Screen. It’s about this beautiful, middle-aged, married, Indian lady; who is learning to speak English at an English speaking course in Manhattan.
The class reminds me of the time Zoya used to teach me Statistics. We were like the people on screen, a heterogenous bunch of people from different parts of the world having a mutual love for numbers. She was one of the sweetest teachers I had ever had, not to mention the sexiest.
Those few months were sheer torture, not being able to ask her out or talk to her, about things other than Stats. Lady luck finally had pity on me, when she agreed to by my date for the party and after that there was no looking back.
A soft whistle breaks through my nostalgic musing. I search for my smartphone phone and find it under my pillow.
1 Message.
The atmosphere is cool. Ice has not melted. I am trying my level best, have turned on the heat.Don’t keep your hopes too high. Pia.
I stare at the screen as these words dance around in front of me.
No.
Pia is not talking about the weather in Delhi, while it is cold, there is no ice so as to speak. Here she is alluding to the cold atmosphere in the Subramaniam house hold and and the ice refers to her parents who are unrelenting. Breaking news. They have every right to be. They are the wronged party.
I think hard and fast. I do not have a lot of time to waste. I need to come up with a plan real soon or my only best option is to pack my bags and catch the next flight back to the States.
I stare at the ceiling where the French guy is talking to the Indian lady. If only real life could be like a movie. If only there would be a happy ending for me and Zoya in this story.
Our story.
I remember something a friend told me. “This is not someone else’s fairy tale. It’s yours. Give it the ending that you want.”
This is my story. Hell yeah! I am not going to let the Subramaniams enjoy any more limelight and attention. It’s back to the hero and heroine. Zoya and Arnaud.
A hazy plan based on something that I had once seen in a Bollywood movie started forming in my head. I jumped up from the bed and knocked on the connecting door.
Ava opens the door and gives me the raised eyebrow. I show her my phone.
“Dios mio. What are we going to do now?” She asks me while handing over the phone to Laurent.
He reads the text quickly and gives me a puzzled look.
« J’ai une idée. J’ai besoin de vos aide. » I tell them, Times of extreme duress and excitement always gets me using my mother tongue.
“Oui,” they both scream in unison.
I tell them my plan, they nod excitedly, Ava raises a concern, we find a Plan B in case our main plan does not work out. Laurent agrees to supervise the smooth execution of the plan. We huddle together like a football team before a match. Except that it was just the three of us.
In some ways this is like a match and I will need all the strength, that I can muster and every strategy, that I can employ to win it and turn the odds, in my favour.
P.O.V of Detective Dolly Dhillon.
Through my high shi technology binoclulars which my daughter got from Canada, I look through the windows, careful to keep the curtains drawn and the lights off to spy on the Tamilians next door. I am very sure that something is wrong with them.
Both their daughters are unmarried. Such shamelessness. My Pinky was married as soon as she completed her degree, she even has a son and a second child on the way. God’s blessings.
Their big daughter stays separately in Mumbai and that too all alone. I wonder why they allow that? I would never allow my Pinky to do something like this. I would give her one tight slap and pull her ears getting her back to her senses.
Their smaller daughter studies abroad. Good God! All alone in a foreign country. I would have nightmares if Pinky even uttered the word Foreign, before getting married. Thank God she got a good NRI munda from Canada.
Something is up though, I can feel it. Zoya is at home although it’s not her usual holiday time. She has been acting weird too. Just yesterday, I went over to their house, on the pretext of asking for some sugar for my kheer and met her.
She was acting very different. Just not herself. I’m sure there is something amiss. I need to know what it is. I will not get sleep at night if I do not know. They do not call me Detective Dolly for nothing. I’m not a professional Detective or anything, but I make it my business to know the happening of our colony in Karol Bagh.
Who knows tomorrow if any crime-shime takes place in our area, and the police will ask at least I might be able to help them. Then these colony people will realize my value and I will be a local hero.
Talking about Crime, this tall firang is standing on the other side of the street with a rose in his hand, staring intently at the Subramaniams house.He looks very suspicious. I hope that he is not hiding a gun.
An hour back, a pretty firang girl knocked on the door and went inside the house. I think, she might be his partner in crime. Trying to sedate, all the members in the house, to rob them of their expensive belongings. The cell phone is in my hand. The Karol Bagh Police Station Number on speed dial. If he makes one move, I will press the button.
Meanwhile, I spy the firang talking to a little boy and a girl. They are Monu and Mini, the gardener’s ten year old twins. They both are very excited at whatever he is telling them and nod their heads vigorously.
Within five minutes, Monu walks to the Subramaniam houselhold and knocks on the door. Mr Subramaniam opens the door. He smiles kindly at Monu, who shyly takes a hidden rose, out from his shirt pocket and hands it over to him, before mouthing something, that looked to me as Zoya Didi. The senior gentleman ruffles his hair kindly and asks him who sent it but Monu shrugs and does not reply.
In the next five minutes, Mini, his sister, does the exact same thing. However she has a bouquet of roses in her hand. Mr Subramaniam smiles at her too and politely accepts the flowers, knowing well that she will not answer his question.
This kept on happening for the next few hours. I swear to God, I was glued to the window from ten in the morning to four in the evening. I wonder what they will do of so many roses and who that boy is? Is he planning to asphyxiate them with the smell of roses and then rob them?
Mrs Subramaniam appears at the first floor window, with Zoya and the firang standing beside her. Mrs Subramaniam looks anxious, Zoya is absolutely elated as though she has just seen her favorite film star. The foreigner is explaining something very animatedly, wildly gesticulating with her hand.
The young man looks unabashedly towards them, his face a mixture of hope, trepidation, anxiety and love; this one specifically towards Zoya. Is he her boyfriend? Is that why she is back so early because she broke up with him? Few pieces have started falling into place.
Mrs Subramaniam takes a deep breath and then shuts the curtain. After a while their front door opens and both the parents are standing on the porch looking at the foreigner. He does not budge.
They wait.
He does not move an inch.
They go back inside.
It’s nearly nine now. I cannot cook food in this mess as I do not want to miss out on anything important. I had to order from the Shandaar restauraunt at the corner of the street.
The boy is still standing outside. He must be chilled to the bone. Winter has set in Delhi. There is a nip in the air and for those who are new to Delhi, it’s not a good time to be out in a half sleeved cotton shirt and blue jeans.
The Subramaniams’ door opens and Zoya comes bounding outside like a space shuttle on a mission. She does not look left or right, crosses the street and leaps toward the foreigner who looks equally happy and catches her with ease and grace that I have seen in Hollywood movies.
They hug as though they have not seen each other in a long time. He whispers something in her ear and she nods, kissing his cheek. He cups her jaws with both his hands bringing her face closer to his.
I thought that he would kiss her on the mouth like they do in those Hollywood movies and now in Bollywood movies too. A foreigner boy and an Indian girl kissing, in the middle of the street. Now that would have the people in the entire colony standing at their door frowning upon them, passing judgements.
Fortunately he does not, he kisses her forehead and rubs his nose against hers holding her close all the while. She whispers something, he nods. Taking his hand in hers, Zoya crosses the street and pushing the tiny gate back, takes the foreigner into her house and shuts the door with a grin on her face.
A perfectly good day wasted. To top that I had to spend a good three hundred bucks on the food, because I could not cook thanks to these Subramaniams. This is the saddest part about people like me who are always interested in the well being of their neighbours. We are the ones to pay at the end.
AN : Hey Wattpaders! Another chapter is here. I wanted you guys to have a different perspective on the events and that is why, I intriduced Dolly Dhillon. Tell me what you guys think? Updates will be slow now onwards, as college has begun and I have a very tight schedule. Your comments however might make me write more frequently. So keep voting and commenting. Spread the love.