The media box is precisely foreshadowing, because as much as Manik may think it's his friends who make his life worth it, his true sukoon is Nandini Murthy <3

Rewritten: 9 January 2025

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One week prior...

Manik

Every tick of the antique yet perfectly maintained 18th-century clock hit a chord with my sprinting heartbeat. Q Label's magnificent logo illuminated before me. Renowned for its exclusivity yet impeccable track record in launching diverse niches, the company proudly claimed an award last year for topping the billboards, with every debut leading the charts for at least a quarter of the launch year, if not more.

A class apart from the rest.

I was dressed in the most impeccable suit, having taken my father's reprimands from the previous day very seriously and currently desiring to make the best first impression that I possibly could. It was unfortunate that my routine of being up until four in the morning was heavily reflected in my gaping dark circles, which peeked through despite Diyah's desperate efforts to conceal them in the earliest hours of the day.

After the previous day's tiff, I promised two things to myself: first, I had had enough of being at my father's beck and call for petty cash and was going to actively search for musical projects that nourished me – regardless of the pay grade; and second, no matter how uncomfortable I was with deafening silence, I would not be the first to break the frostiness with him.

Finally, I had proven myself wholly unworthy of inheriting the fashion house, what a huge accomplishment that was! I should have been relieved for being finally off the hook, but that hollowing ache of yet again disappointing my father pricked me.

Any in-depth discussions regarding my career choices would be shelved for a few weeks after the stupid stunt I pulled off; that was what I had presumed until at the awkwardly long breakfast table with three chairs – one empty for the unofficially adopted son he was actually fond of – he was pricking an omelette when he kindly informed me of the album deal.

My cutlery was gently aside as I filtered the details sporadically from his long overly placid dialogues: great money, launching in Mumbai, an artist with a 'lived-in' desi feel, amp up the Indian vibes. Unwilling to unwind my high horse, as Cabir dearly put it, I refused to ask any further questions or information regarding it.

If it was Q Label that reached out without any interventions or preferential treatment for the surname I possessed, they deserved blind approval. In person. And that was where I was, for the first time in my life, patiently waiting.

I flicked my 'kada' around casually while seated on the cream leather loveseat, watching it hula hoop over my wrist and come to rest and was summoned after twenty minutes of lodging an appointment to meet with Khurana's business partner. Not even Khurana; if that didn't speak volumes of how unattainable the man was, what else could?

An assistant guided me to the meeting room which opened with a click. Seated on a cream revolving chair and armed by a compact white bookshelf filled with colour-coded tones of grey, cream and white books, the man exuded a domineering aura and evidently spoke of class. "Muhneek, what a pleasure to meet you!" He gestured to a cream chair on the other side of his table. His name board, which was partnered with a tiny succulent, read 'Rohit M.' and posed over a white wooden desk along with a desktop.

The classy extravagance of everything white, a colour I associated with a girl I knew several years ago, deeply violated me to the core but I tried to push the feeling away as I pulled a chair for myself.

It was happening. It was finally happening. My lifelong dream of composing a solo album, the only goal I had been ever so passionate about attaining was at arm's reach.

Jitters in my nerves had the better of me and forcing them in my control with closed fists, I reeled both in the unsheltered excitement of things finally working out in my favour and the amount of exposure such a project could land for me.

Many could only dream of signing their first independent project with Q Label and my reality was being painted with their glory.

I put on a smile. "Likewise. I wanted to say thank you from the bottom of my heart for the opportunity." Touching the centre of my chest to add to the effect, I chatted away about the honour of working with such a reputed organisation and for having faith in me to offer me something so spectacular. Networking... networking was very important to climb the ladder, to be granted favours and to make a mark in a classist world, that was what my father had repeated like a broken cassette player since my introverted college days.

The silence that was previously obvious as I studied the surroundings and maintained my calm composure diminished in a jiffy as Rohit's features gleamed at the flattery as he pulled out a black leather zip folder and extended it towards me on the desk.

"You're more than welcome. Have you had the chance to meet the rest of your band yet?"

My smile faltered.

"Band?"

Rohit appeared confused. "Has your father not told you about it?" Perhaps, I had been foolish in my decision to not press him for details, but why would my father mention a band signing offer to me when he clearly knew I was only willing to play solo? Unless... could it be possible that my father did not know about it himself?

Interpreting my silence as a mere moment of shock and nothing beyond, Rohit mollified, "Not an issue, I can introduce them to you..." As Rohit began poking some numbers on a telephone underneath his desk, my knuckles turned white from the fierceness with which I was clutching them.

The last I played music with a band was when I was part of Fab 5. And that was back in the tender years of school. Music with them was not just about playing instruments and elaborately singing to self-composed tunes, it was about making soulful memories together... That was where our strength lay. Memories, many of which could last me a lifetime, if not longer.

There was no way I could muster the courage to rewrite that history with anyone else. Anything else. It was utterly disgusting that Cabir could throw away all those years of a wonderful friendship to recreate trashy music with random people who neither understood its meaning nor value, but I... impossible.

I was about to protest when Rohit hung up but was interrupted by two young men and a couple of women who constituted the band. Rohit ran quick introductions and established that Q Label had the band in mind that cleared their preliminary checks but the record company had kept them on standby while they were on the lookout for a lead singer to complete their troop. My entry into their lives had apparently been a true blessing in disguise.

They were banking on one statement from me, which would make or break their lives altogether. Such a huge responsibility on my shoulders was quite a burden, for I was not to be entrusted with anything – time and again, I had proven it and my father too had left no page unturned to instil it at every opportunity he found.

In an attempt to buy me more time and carefully craft my refusal, I undid the zipper around the black folder Rohit had nudged before their assembly. Two pinned booklets were stacked on each other: one was a contract and the other was an advance payment acknowledgement, both waiting to be scored off by me.

With shaking fingers, I traced the letters of the document that lettered a five-digit quote. Several thousand pounds, of which a few were just the advance amount via a post-dated cheque to three days from that day, I analysed and pinched the inside of a forearm. Indeed real.

That kind of money could comfortably pay my bills for the next quarter and if Q Label's track record fared well another time, my life was one step away from being completely sorted. All my worries would finally disappear, and I could move out, live somewhere far away with no contact with anyone from my past like my twin sister did, and restart life afresh – on my terms. What a utopic lifestyle that would be!

Alongside that wonderous possibility was a bone-chilling realisation that Manik Malhotra would truly be alone all over again, and would have to learn to live without the grey elements of his existence that defined and breathed life into him.

Everyone was expectantly gazing at me, alternating glances between a pen in the binder and my fingers that were running through the edges of the pages, oblivious to the multiple papercuts they were causing. "Sorry, I... didn't anticipate that it was a band signing," I confessed in a trance.

"Oh, no issues at all... you can even play a piece with them if that would help." Rohit suggested while looking at the rest of the team who were cheery about the idea.

Torn between the reality of my present where I could get everything I wished for if I just took the leap, and the crushing nostalgia of my past that depicted and sculped the monster I was at present, I could not pull the lever on either and resorted to requesting a little more time to think about the offer.

That appeal changed the impression Rohit had of me forever.

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Love your love. 💕