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⭒⭒⭒

Manik

Two things in this world make me very happy. One is music, and the other is stars. Nobody so far, including myself, has been able to decode the reason behind my fascination for them. They are permanent; they politely exist in daylight without trying to stand out, and then when the time comes, they shine to their fullest capacity in the darkness.

"Manik, ready?" Alex buzzed me out of my happy place, into the world of reality where there is never darkness except in people's hearts. A star cannot just exist to make a mark in tainted hearts: there needs to be so much more. I can do this. Clearing my throat, I complacently nodded while tuning my guitar as well.

Cabir, on the other hand, was slouching on his stool, tapping his drumsticks together with a broad everlasting smile. When last was he ever this happy in front of me? "What's up? You seem quite happy today! Any nasty plans in store for me?"

He half-chuckled, "Sure!" I was still processing this timid side of him when he completed himself. "I had a good one last night!" Perhaps he got some ass in one of those clubs. Oh well... good for him!

In front of us sat Ashok Khurana, a suit-clad man with salt and pepper side-swept hair, and a young woman, with bangs in front of her face. Her lips that were coloured a bold smoky red were a standout on her silhouette. She resembled Ashok so much that concluding she was his daughter would not be far out.

"Okay go," Ashok commanded, and as instructed, we executed our rehearsal from early that afternoon. And tune after tune played.

It was a big deal for us to clear this audition. We were all supposed to give it our best, that was why we were in Mumbai in the first place. Though I was physically absorbing the rhythm, for the first time, my heart wasn't into what I was singing. I wasn't as connected to my passion, the meaning of my existence, as I should've been.

How did she keep track of every little thing I did or said to her? It was fascinating that she could read me so well, in just one meeting. Was she that observant, or was I just so easy to understand? If I was... then why do I always have issues with dumbasses in my life? How did I, a useless good-for-nothing piece of trash, mean so much to her?

I wasn't exceptional in any way; if anything, I was only more of a douche back then. She's a blur to me. I remembered her, I remembered some good times, but all that was wiped out of my memory. What struck me most was the blank expression on her face like all life was sucked out of it. She didn't plead. She didn't cry. Her eyes were closed, and I left, without a second glance at her devastated state.

"Good job..." Our team eagerly clapped for ourselves, but I was in the middle of nowhere, lost as always. I held my head high and lowered my dear guitar, a confident smirk painted over my visage. "...was that what you were expecting me to say? Pathetic."

"What?"

"Your music... is pathetic." It took us a moment to comprehend his words. "The lyrics are beautiful, no doubt; so are the instrumentals being played behind and the lead vocals are certainly the least of my concerns. But together..." His lips clicked together, dismissive. "There is no life in it as a whole. Are you guys, even artists?"

I couldn't believe my ears. My heart, from the top of my chest, dipped into my stomach. Swearing to the powers that control the universe, I would've approved of this song in a heartbeat if I was on the listening end. It never occurred to me that our song wouldn't hit the bar of 'expectations' Mr Khurana had from us.

His gaze shifted to me, in specific. "If this is the kind of art you're going to create, you might as well go back to the UK and live like a prince in your father's fashion house!" 

Hands froze in aghast. I scavenger-hunted the room for something to throw on his head and crack that cocky ass skull of his. He could be wealthy, but he didn't struggle his way up the ladder. It's simple to be the heir of a millionaire and inherit a business one did not work a second to build. He knew no shit about potential, and we weren't professionals. All we wanted was one chance and if that asshole couldn't hand it to us...

"Dad... they were probably stressed." She pressed her fingers into his coat-clad bicep. If she couldn't calm the rhino, that was okay. I could thrash my guitar on his old hag face, putting an end to any 'concerns' he had once and for all. 

She patted his chest softly. "An album deal signed with you, that's more than some can imagine in a lifetime." The expressions on his face changed from considerably put off, to some pride. Dickhead. "Let's give them one more chance. Please."

⭒⭒⭒

Cabir

"What a disaster!" Alex threw his head back, and he sprung onto the white ottoman backstage. Our backstage vanity was a makeshift dressing room with a broken mirror that reflected our current career scope. On one wall was an inbuilt metal column rod stashed with theatre costumes shaped like insects, sparkled with sequins and glittery girly stuff. I picked what looked like a bumblebee because it was too adorable.

Manik promptly retorted as expected of him, "I swear, it's all this chilling around shit that's causing us big trouble now." His fingers pointed towards me, identifying the 'culprit' of his life's mishaps dressed as a bumblebee with my arms stretched out like an excited toddler. His eyes softened soon after, retreating to a calm, composed glisten. They looked around for something more eyecatching–perhaps a firefly.

Pamela, who was thrown off by the personal attack endorsed to Manik, stood up to shove someone else in as bait. "If only people could stop being distracted..." As she eyed me, I noticed Manik tense up and took a step forward.

"There's no need to blame anyone, guys." That was probably the first time in a long time that he did something in my defence. I wondered which part of her diary he'd gotten up to. For all I knew, he had all night to get past every little anecdote they shared, and if he didn't want to relive every scene again, he could've finished the entire book in a night.

Nandini was one of a kind. I never knew her well enough to say anything about her, but her diary was a reflection of how modest of a girl she was. She hardly expected much from anyone but boundlessly expressed her love for anyone, even if all they did was lend her a pencil. Imagine, tolerating a toxic, immature Manik Malhotra for all those months in the name of love... nobody else would. Sadly, somewhere deep down that was what she yearned for. She was a lonely girl, stuck in her little shell of self-love that he brutally shattered along the way and in loving him, she lost the little bit of love she saved for herself.  

Alex butted in, "Manik... what do you think we should do?" But Manik wasn't even listening. Through the corner of my eyes, he was slowly blinking at something on the wall behind me. I traced his vision trail to observe two bugs lighting up around each other, randomly fluttering towards each other and further away.  

"Jugnu..." I murmured, after which his focus shifted to me, and the word that was uttered by me.

⭒⭒⭒

26 August 2010

"Two people in love, alone, isolated from the world, that's beautiful."

― Milan Kundera

I blankly stared at the various options on the menu card. I had never been to such an exorbitant place for coffee alone. Plus the prices... Chikkappa would faint only! I looked up at Manik, who tilted his head. "One cold coffee." I murmured blinking. It was one of the cheapest on the menu anyways.

He smiled. "Waiter, two cold coffees, and listen..." I silently watched how symmetrically his lips curved up, and his long, dark eyelashes touched every time his cheek muscles pulled up a grin. He looked Punjabi, at first glance, with the silver bangle thing and his long and thick slicked-back hair. As he wandered off in a conversation with the waiter in a different language, I gaped at how informal people were in Mumbai.

In Bangalore, we don't talk to strangers very quickly, especially girls–it's a no-no. The city is modern and lively, but the people are focused on themselves so much that they don't have time to socialise in public, though Bangalore's traffic jams are great reasons to have chats with the neighbour vehicle drivers!

"Hmm... So, kuch bolo?" He adjusted his arms over the table and pulled a tissue out. I was totally lost. I didn't know enough Hindi. Even in school back there, my second language was Kannada which happens to be my mother tongue and my third language was French, that I can manage a few sentences in. He started folding the tissue while waiting for a reply, but I was clueless. I'm certainly so dull.

"What?"

He glanced into my eyes and gave that classic Manik Malhotra snap, "Tch! You Bangaloreans really need to pick up on the language, yaar." Without a doubt, I knew he was disappointed. North Indians take it so personally when someone doesn't know their language, huh.

He made a little paper plane and threw it at me, but it collapsed open in my face. He suppressed a giggle as I crumpled the tissue.

"You can speak in English... if you wanted to speak to me. Or French..." I murmured, playing with the hems of the most elegant kurti I owned. It upset me how much effort I put into looking impressive for the first time I was ever taken out by a guy. My hair was in a side-fishtail-braid, which I think he noticed the moment he laid his eyes on me. They ran down my torso, stopping at the ends of my hair.

"Waise yeh... I mean..." He corrected, rubbing the tip of his nose, "this isn't a date, okay? Like all this 'new look' thing wasn't necessary."

Within a second, my expressions changed to that of pure disbelief. "Who said I did all this for you? This is how I always dress... when I'm going to a public place." I retorted after remembering the time he saw me in my room in pyjamas. He was smirking all along though I didn't bother looking. Such a tease!

I think Hindi came to him more naturally than English and that wasn't shocking to me. 'Mumbaikars' are like that, Navya told me. "Acchha... about that, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were Abhi's sister."

"Do you mean just a sorry, or a sorry with a sad face?" I mimicked the emoji he drew on the post-it, and he genuinely smiled while drifting his concentration away from the attempts I put into looking decent that evening. He looked better like that, while a smile instead of an arrogant smug. I thought I knew people well enough to tell when they were genuine, and when they weren't; language was no barrier to the heart.

Our order was served. "Sir, chocolate aur..." Manik nodded to place it on the table. He put both drinks and said the customary 'enjoy-your-drink'. Manik moved the glasses such that the whipped cream one was placed over my table mat. I glanced at it and felt a small smile curve on my lips. It was only after he took two sips, that he looked back at me. He jolted his eyebrows at me, wondering if I disapproved or something.

"But why?" I half-smiled. I didn't know Manik had this other side, the side where he cared to go the extra bit, because nobody talked about it. To everyone else, he was always the bad guy who shouldn't be messed around with. The two extremes are black and white, and he was only black, maybe just a shade lighter. He was 'nice' to his friends, and them alone.

"I figured girls like that." He shrugged, engrossed in his drink. I didn't know which 'girls' he referred to, or how many there ever were and I was curious, but I was afraid that would come off as too desperate. I liked the attention I was receiving though, and maybe hanging out with him isn't as bad an idea.

"I'm more of a caramel person," I said with a proper smile while eyeing my tall glass.

He relaxed into his cushion chair, unbuttoning the top of his shirt and crossing one leg over the other. How could he be so freaking attractive without even trying? "I'll remember that for next time, Mademoiselle." He blinked at me in a dreamy yet mordant manner. To say I was surprised would be an understatement.

I leaned over the table, slamming my hand onto it with some evident excitement. "You know French?"

"Ahh... just learnt a little from the plays in our texts. Literature is one of my favourite classes." So we shared a common interest, seeing words come to life. I loved classics, especially fairy tales. I grew up hearing stories about Amma and Appa's dating life and watching animated movies like the Sleeping Beauty and the Little Mermaid that were filled with hope and happy endings. It took me my parents' death to realise all ends weren't of contentment... and that's when I taught myself to cope with my loss using fictional characters–placing myself in their more uncomfortable shoes. Tales of unrequited closure, I could relate to.

All the while, he watched me quietly. I would be a fool if I didn't figure out that there was something about me that intrigued him as well. By now, Babbu, you know I am captivated by him. He was attractive, one. His perfume (which I smelled when we were on the bike), for two. His manners, well, surprisingly he was making up for it, so three. "What?"

"No, nothing... I didn't really think you were... the kind that... likes metaphors and surrealistic analogies."

He waved at himself, "Appearances can be deceptive. Living example," and I smirked this time. He was done with his coffee, but I was still not even half-way there. Well, it was so delicious I didn't want to finish it so quickly either. As I said, I was beginning to like him.

"I wonder how my brother deals with you."

"We have an understanding." He winked. I didn't get it. I was going to peer further on those lines, but he interrupted me with his restlessness. "You finished or what? It's almost 6." He reminded me of when I enacted a tiny play in my house, of me having to return before six so that I wouldn't get into trouble with my Chikkamma-Chikkappa.

"Well, good, you caught that." Smartass.

He chuckled and waited on his phone. Just being reassured of my belief, that some goodness existed within the man of several troubles, uplifted my spirits and the way I interacted with him.

"You look... different... today." He mentioned spontaneously, for I had zoned out of the scene. I don't think he was supposed to say any part of that sentence out aloud, which was why his 'different' also sounded very different. He cleared his throat and sat back upright. "I mean uniform main hi zyaada dekha hoon tumko, so..." I didn't get a word of what he said, except uniform, but I smiled at how he fumbled to gather his sentences. He then was prompt to call for the bill and avoid any further interactions before having tipped the man a 100. I scrutinised as to what that was for.

"You paid him so you could boss over?" He shrugged indifferently and waved for me to lead, and he followed behind quietly.

I sat on the bike, this time with my hand over his shoulder unintentionally. It wasn't long before I realised and withdrew, but his tongue swept around his cheeks in a sly accord. Aiyappa, why do all the unfortunate things happen only to me? Huh?

The ride on the way back felt shorter, probably because I was still lost in the high of a fantastic memory I created with him. Once he parked right in front of my building, he checked his glamorous silver wristwatch. "5:54, Mademoiselle!" I cheeked a smile after jumping off and extended a folded two hundred rupee note to him. A curt peep was passed before his insides smoked. "What's this?"

"Thank you... for today. I've never had such an expensive cup of coffee in my life, and I must say I enjoyed it." It genuinely was a polite gesture of him, to try to make up for screwing things up in the first place. But which human doesn't? What matters is how one redeems oneself and Manik did that a long time ago.

Every muscle in his face tightened. "Seriously? God, how dumb are you?" He gaped, slapping his thighs before shooting a blank stare at me. He, then to clarify, got off his motorbike. "It was on me. I was the one who chose the place who took you out." I would've jumped back if it was anyone else, but Manik seemed like the guy who would use his impulses as a defence mechanism. Not a muscle of mine displaced.

"It's not a date, Manik." The soft smile on my face made the tension he held within dissipate in milliseconds. He was dumbfounded, probably, at the way I handled his threatening temper. Rooting for him was an effortless task. I pulled his hand, palm up, pressing the paper roll in then wrapping it up. I couldn't help but notice the way his veins popped off through the thin sheath of skin on the back of his hand.

I hastily dispersed those details and turned to go back home, when the tips of my fingers were clutched on by his thumb alone. "Nandini..." With one strong pull, I came dwindling into his arms like a cocoon being spun to become a butterfly. The motion created butterflies in the depths of my stomach, fluttering in all sorts of directions at the possibilities to arise henceforth.

My pounding heartbeat felt at no ease being so treacherously close to, according to me, one of the marvellous mortal creations of God. As my eyes hooked onto his that were inclined at a substantial foot measure over mine, I saw a familiar sense of relief... of the need for saving that he yearned to possess... an oblivious power that he discovered in me at first glance.

"You never fail... to surprise me."

I sunk every detail of his spectacular persona, to picture him at any point of time with the skill of my memory. Destiny made us meet for a reason, and I believed I was close to finding it–my purpose. Ammamma would always say there was a bigger picture to my life, that if I made it through the car accident alive, the same one in which my parents died, and my brother got his seizures, God needed me for something vast, something vaguer, or indigent that I could balance out.

But I wasn't sure if I was ready to explore that aspect yet. Being with Manik made me foreign to myself for sure, and I didn't want to lose any part of myself; however, not before figuring out the man before me. I needed to go because if I stayed any longer, I wouldn't want to leave. The ageless saying went by the faster the pace to construction, the lower the quality of its foundation.

I breathed heavily, with every molecule of air feeling denser than waterlogged lungs. "Manik, it's almost six", I whispered.

"Hmm..."

"Manik, please." He blinked and suddenly broke out of a trance he didn't know he fell into. Quickly scanning the surroundings, and then his clasp around my wrist, he let go. I didn't know what I did wrong, but he was positively pissed off. The crumpled note was still bunched up in his hand, but he kept it perhaps to steer clear of any further contact with me for the day. He vroomed out of there without looking at me even once.

I sighed deeply after closing my eyes. Aiyappa, what is with this Manik Malhotra? 

⭒⭒⭒

Did anyone notice how this part really emphasised on the 'two's? It signifies that it takes two people to build and maintain a relationship; don't settle for less, my lovelies, y'all deserve a Parth Samthaan. Remember that for later... ;)  

I hope you liked this part? Don't forget to vote and drop in some cute comments, guys!! :3 

For all those who've commented and voted on the previous sections, I love you so much :') We're a fourth of the way to the finish line!  :")