I was the smartest kid in the school, though my school grades did not speak so. I was actually one of the street-smart kinds who knew how to find a way out even in the worst of situations. Someone who knew what was best for me and had no qualms about cashing in, on it. And whose mind worked only on one principle - whether the thing in front would help me or not. And I was appreciated and applauded, every time I displayed this focus, which was gradually internalized into me, my core. The source of my wins and validation.
Then I grew up. I reached an age where my hormones churned and re-baked my core. The bashless smart part did not leave, but was battered, abandoned and set aside to rearrange and condense itself till the newer ingredients metabolized at the highest rate inside me. They provided a different kind of oxygen, a newer set of nutrients to my cells. I breathed afresh, rather differently.
I could not believe that I was applying for a degree in Fashion Designing. Nothing inside me was pushing me towards this sudden and unexpected decision. I had always thought I would pursue one of the streams of Science or Commerce, which would give me the money and the confidence to stay myself and happy. I had filled the admission forms for the two streams, diligently. But while lousing in my room that summer, somewhat drowsy under the whirring fan, and surfing through a fashion magazine, I just got up and filled in the online form for Fashion Technology. Why? I never bothered to cross check.
Even worse followed. They even selected me.
The first day at the college was good fun. I never went back to the engineering college where my father ’s friend who was also the Dean, had set aside a seat for me till almost the end of the first session. Everyone, even a part of myself, was pretty sure of my going back to that course, for the longest time.
But I stuck in Fashion Design. Apart from the fun I was having, the other reason for sticking there was the set of eyes stuck on me today, right at this moment, as I was climbing the steps of the stage for the exchange of garlands. The eyes which had me transfixed from the left corner of the banquet hall, much to the disappointment of my cousin Divya . She was frantically fumbling with my lehenga, whose weight was more than the two of us put together. Apart from my indifference to her efforts, Sharanya who was on my right, was adding fuel to Divya’s frustration.
‘Please, please… at least once!’. Constant whispers from Sharanya were hissing out higher pitches, inversely proportional to our distance from the set of garlands.’ Please, please, at least once.’
Her words echoed in my mind and took me to the years earlier, to the time outside the gate, on the first day of our college. Neither of us had known each other before - me, Sharanya or the pair of eyes transfixed on me i.e. Varun . Our seniors had made us stand in a Bharatanatyam pose right outside the gate of the college. We had to wish a ‘good morning’ to every entrant.
It had been almost half an hour in the sun. Sharanya wanted to go to the loo. ‘Please, please, please let me put my foot down, at least once’. It was funny, the way she was over dramatizing her plight. Even I could make out that she was faking. Suddenly, the Principal appeared and in that confusion I caught Varun winking at Sharanya. The next moment, before I realised, Varun had already grabbed our hands and rushed us inside, way up to the terrace of the three floor structure. I did not even know their names then. But the hands never left each other. For long.
‘You know very well that he is not like that; he did not do it intentionally. Don’t punish him for none of his fault’, Sharanya reiterated. Since the day I had announced my wedding, she had been after me.
‘Do you have any proof?’ I asked.
‘You’ve got to believe him. He is…err… was… your love.’
‘Didn’t I? Blindly?’ I shot back, his eyes still stuck on me. In response, the eyes just smiled and then were lowered, much like our lives, Varun and mine.
We were in love, with our work and each other. The dream was to be present and visible, at the most coveted Fashion Week. Three years after we had made a mark in the market, the Fashion Council announced a contest – to come up with the most innovative design series. It was our best chance to pluck our dreams. We immediately got down to work. In life, one keeps praying for that single opportunity which can put us on the escape velocity to fulfilling our dreams. This contest was that rocket for me. And it had landed right in front of me. I just needed to climb that first step. About the rest, I knew well. But what I did not know was that this single step too was way more heavier than the longest and the most arduous route towards achieving my dreams.
The suddenness of this opportunity, the springing up of the self-doubt, the anxiety of the impending pain if I failed, and the excitement if I did reach the top, accompanied by the glimmer of how life will change if it happens, disrupted the rhythm of my hands and mind.
It was only three days to the final date to submit the sketches. I was getting increasingly jittery, nervous, happy, teary-eyed and exhausted. All at the same time. There was not a single emotion which was missing in me, racking me. Nothing seemed good enough. No sketch, no design was actually meeting my expectations; , his wish. Both of us had not moved out of our workshop for days. It had turned in to a trash can as every next design was found way worse than the earlier one. If I liked one, Varun did not, and if he liked any, I hated it. Now with only two days left, he began liking everything and I still could not commission any. We were fighting, hitting, making up. The same story interacted once again, every single day, over the last two weeks.
It was only a few hours before deadline when I woke up around twelve. Varun was not there; neither his sketching bag. In this studio, only his bag and the two pairs of bermudas and t-shirts, usually marked his presence. I could not find any of these items there. Not in the mood for any distraction, I quickly grabbed a cup of coffee and began drawing. One corner of my eye was at the door, the other was at the clock. He did not turn up. I stuck to the job. At eleven, an hour before midnight, exactly an hour before the deadline, he woke me up to slide out the laptop on which I had fallen asleep. The battery had been discharged. He plugged the charger in to the socket .
‘What is it?’ I was eager.
‘Our entry’. He replied without any excitement.
‘What is the innovation?’
‘We are going to use metal. Recycled.’ He was staring at the laptop screen waiting for it to start.
‘Wearable?’
‘Yes.’
‘Doable? Can we do the technology?’
‘Yes.’ Varun assured.
‘Original?’ I continued barrage of my questions.
I think he said yes. At least I think so, or may be he uttered - ‘yeah, almost’- I can barely recall. It was just half an hour left to submit the entry. I was too excited to make it happen.
And we won. After a week. Me and Varun.
‘See, he just wanted you to win. Blindly.’
Sharanya pinched me. She was trying to make me rethink about my walk to the garlands, but I was in no mood. I could not even feel her little pinch as my limbs were already overwhelmed by the constant friction of the hundreds of Swarovski crystals lined on the helm of my lehenga. I had them specially crafted. After all, a blacklisted yet immensely talented artist was on her way.
‘Exactly. How far two blinds could have gone?’. I blurted to shirk her off. I did not want to be reminded of what happened next. But I was.
The next day our label was blacklisted and dismembered from the council. I ran in my slippers and banged the doors of the council office to get to know the actual reason. I could be accused of being aggressive, mean, curt, but a fraudster or a cheater I never was. I did not need to. My designs were known for their ingenuity. They could not just finish me off, like that.
‘Is not a blind tycoon better than a shrewd one, full of malice? You may not accept it but the whole world knows. Vikrant always had his eyes set on you, your talent.’ Sharanya dashed her eyes at Vikrant who stood right in front, about a hundred steps ahead, with a rose garland on the ready, and awaiting my arrival. My gaze followed. He wore an impeccably tailored suit, metallic blue hued. It was ordered at the last moment. I had disliked the one which he was trying on two days before the wedding. It was in lilac blended wool. I had not even formally declined to acknowledge it. There had been just a retraction of a smile and a little frown on the forehead. He had immediately picked up the phone. Experts were flown in from Milan. They took the measurements and flew back. In the next 24 hours, the masterpiece had arrived. It did not matter much to me what he wore. But the whole circus which sprang into action at just a faint expression from me, reassured me, validated me. He looked good; in fact great, dressed in my choice of wear.
Sharanya provoked me further. A sudden urge rose in me to push her off the stage. But she was the only friend left. The only soul left to share myself with. The only mirror that could understand and reflect me. Right now, I did not want her advice, warnings and suggestions. I wanted her just to be there.
‘Oh come on. Vikrant was such a close friend of Varun. He should have at least raised it with both of you first, and then thought of filing a complaint,’ Sharanya struggled to whisper.
‘He was much within his right in doing so. I would have done the same if I was in his place. After all, it was his creation, his idea. And Varun stole it. Plain and simple’. I stayed firm and did not let my pitch show any shades of rosy rage within. The event manager waved at us from behind the orchestra. He gestured to us to stop and wait for a bit. Some technical glitch had occurred in the background music. Vikrant had chosen it especially, for this moment. My favourite songs.
I was blacklisted for copying Vikrant’s design. I did not even know him well at that point of time, let alone his design. He was Varun ’s friend who apparently tried to help him by sharing one of his ideas, I was told. As was expected, Vikrant filed a case the next day.
‘But Vikrant himself shared it with Varun to help you guys. And I am sure he would not even have looked back, if this idea did not win,’ Sharanya insisted, while exchanging social smiles.
‘Help? Does that word even exist in this cut throat world?’ I smirked.
‘And are not we looking like fools standing in wait?’ I added teasingly, to change the topic.
‘But that is what poor Varun thought. He was tricked.’ She did not relent.
I had had enough of poor Varun.
’Even if someone is tricking you, you ought to have brains, or at least the ethics to not use someone else’s property. At least he should have told me the truth before the submission of the entry.’ I shifted my gaze to Vikrant. He gestured to be patient for a minute, and keep smiling.
‘Varun did all this only out of love; love for you.’ Sharanya stepped forward and turned to face me. She was standing right in front of me. Now we were looking like fools of a much higher level. I felt cornered.
‘I do not want the love which will eventually take away my life,’ I shot back at her.
‘Oh, come on, you are very much alive.’ She began pretending to tuck my pallu, properly.
‘Really? I can’t work, not even as an employee, a seamstress. Nobody wants to meet me. But he can, as only I was the face of the label. I am the one who people hate, and call a thief. Nobody knows him. Sometimes I feel he tricked me into taking the blame. It was his suggestion after all.’ I jumped at the opportunity to raise my voice and twist my face as I was hidden behind her.
‘I always knew this Vikrant would show his true colours one day. He was the one who conspired,’ she continued, while rearranging my nose ring.
‘Maybe, Varun also conspired with him; double conspiracy. First alone and then with him,’ I retorted. Sharanya bit her lip. Now her lips were merged with her red hot cheeks. No amount of concealer was able to fade them off. Whether it was her sheer concern for me, or the obsession to keep our gang of three friends together. The thought flashed across my mind.
‘Beta, is there a problem?’ Ma shouted from below. She was busy arranging the mithai boxes.
‘No, aunty, nothing at all. Just her goose bumps,’ Sharanya shouted back. I could hear a chuckle in the air.
‘Aren’t you scared? I mean, I don’t see this marriage going anywhere. A divorce, I bet, after two, may be max three years.’ She stopped and held my hand intently.
‘Of course. You never know. But with Varun, I am hundred per cent sure that would be the destiny. With Vikrant even if it happens so, at least after those three years, I will have my work, my dignity and my respect. With Varun, I will just end up being cheated, robbed and bared again.’
The music re-appeared and shook us out of our conversation. Time to step forward.
‘Is not love enough?’ Sharanya came back to her original position and stood next to me facing the garlands. We were supposed to step together. Poor Divya was all confused and felt left out.
‘Exactly. I got to love me back first. No other love is enough if I don’t do that.’
‘But wasn’t it your fault too? You could also have discussed it that night. She looked at Varun who stood holding a glass. I did not follow her gaze.
‘Yes, I agree. That is why I was in no hurry this time. Can’t afford to repeat my mistake.’
‘So you choose him?’ Sharanya persisted.
‘No’. I lifted the hems of my lehenga to walk and smiled.
‘I choose myself’.
‘Sharanya, from here I will take on.’
My mother stepped forward. She had been keeping a watch over her. ‘Beta, just look ahead,’ my mother suggested. Something in my core which was buried and hardened long back, oozed out.
I fixed my gaze on the set of eyes in front. About a hundred steps ahead.
A poignant tale of delicate human emotions.
Beautifully penned... One can feel the emotions flowing