Thoughts on MJHT - G's letter and Sam's thoughts

I want:
Gunjan's letter to be ambiguous, to only hint at her feelings, maybe apologise for them (so like her!), say it was her fault, he never gave her any such hopes, and so she needs some time away from him but she will come back and be his friend again, that she promises.
I want:
Samrat to reflect on her letter, then have flashbacks of the time they rehearsed together for the play where she let out her feelings for him saying it was her fault she fell in love with him. I want another flashback when during the play while they were arguing about giving up their friendship for Sheena, she told him he was lucky his love was returned, because one-sided love was painful ... I want him to remember that and realise that she has loved him quietly, hopelessly for so long, and never said a word.
I want him to remember that she tried to stay away from him, but he would never let her. Everytime she went away, he would follow her and ask what the problem was - he could not let her alone.
Then ... I want:
Samrat to remember his dates with Sheena both began and ended with Gunjan. The first date - she helped him cook, and after the date, he promptly landed up at her house to thank her. And he wanted some 'Samrat-Chashmish time - no Sheena'. He didn't have any problem talking nonstop about Chashmish with Sheena, though - I want him to realise that Gunjan has always been in his thoughts and on his mind - always.
I want him to remember the second Sheena date, where again he was with Gunjan before the date, choosing gifts for Sheena - but also giving her a gift, dancing with her, calling her his soulmate. And after the date, when Sheena had burst the bombshell of wanting him to break his friendship, I want him to remember he still called Gunjan after he got home, still in shock, the only thing on his mind that he couldn't, wouldn't give her up - his desperate call to her was as though he wanted to talk to her, needed to talk to her - needed only her, as he had always done.
That will make his realisation more poignant and more beautiful, when he realises how long he has loved her without even knowing it - and how long she has loved him, always knowing it.

Thoughts on MJHT - SG

The most cliched, hackneyed start - stud boy meets nerd girl, specs and all. A raw actor with poor dialogue delivery and worse expressions. A pretty heroine who did nothing but whimper with nervousness, or cry - both my pet peeves. So where did the SG story hook me?
Not the start - definitely. I watched the first two-three episodes and gave it up completely! Didn't see it at all the next few months. Happened to see a couple of promos, which didn't really interest me. Then DMG started going down the tubes and I started putting on the tv five-ten minutes before it started and would catch the last 5-10 minutes of MJHT - around the Valentine's Day episodes and MN's Ahmedabad trip.
I enjoyed the MN ahmedabad trip, the lost in the jungle sequences and the night in the house - mainly for Nupur's bubbly acting. I loved SG during the question answer session when they knew each other inside out - this was my idea of love. And I got hooked on SG during Khuda Jaane. Defining moment.
Their chemistry was electric, their thoughts, their feelings tangible, their dance, especially Gunjan's graceful movements, hypnotic. The way they looked at each other and smiled, their comfort levels were obvious. Khuda Jaane to me is still a completely SG song - I had to watch it again to remember where MN even featured in it. It hooked me - so I went back in time and saw the old episodes on youtube and I found that what was the most cliched love story in the book had turned into a beautiful poignant love story which had echoes in my own life and that of people I knew. It was real, it was believable and it was beautfully portrayed.
My favourite moments - Dia telling Gunjan about the bet out of spite, Gunjan, hurt to the core, hiding her feelings, carrying on with her exams, deciding not to tell Samrat she knows about it till the exams are over, because she will help him till the end as she has promised - and she does. The sequence in his house where he knows something is wrong - ah, they have already developed such an understanding - and asks her, she doesn't reply directly, but tells him that she will keep her promise. The end of the exams - Samrat looking for her, his expression of anguish when he says - 'Chashmish, where are you? and what is it that you're hiding from me which is worrying you so much?' And then the break - of friendship, as they call it - but it's already so obvious that they are deeply in love.
These few scenes were the defining moments of their relationship for me. I fell in love with the Gunjan I saw in them - quiet, yet strong, unbearably hurt by someone she had learned slowly to trust, yet dignified to the core even after what she saw as his betrayal. She has not raised her voice even once during this entire year and her personality has been the strongest. Her voice modulation is simply amazing - I hear her on sbs and other interviews and she has a harsh, almost shrill voice. On screen, it sounds as though she has dipped it in honey. Her personality in real life is a complete contrast to Gunjan - they seem to be polar opposites, yet when she plays Gunjan, it's as though she cannot be any different.
As for Samrat - hats off to Mohit, for he has really come a long way in terms of acting skills. He was an unconvincing stud of the college - even now, he cannot really portray anger or even attitude - I feel from his offscreen interviews that he is just too sweet a guy! But he has progressed a long way and emotes really well now - much better than he did earlier. He still has some way to go, but he is definitely watchable and believable now. Helps that his character is a sweetheart as well - though the 'dhakkan' phase irritated the life out of me!
I hated the Weeping Willow phase of Gunjan - to me, that was not Gunjan as I loved her. Am so glad that the quietly strong girl seems to be on her way back, and am thrilled that their love story is finally, hopefully! reaching its climax. Looking forward to Morena!

Thoughts on MJHT - MN

Wonder where the MN story is heading. If I was the writer, I would be doing a compare contrast between SG and MN - one pair building up love through a beautiful friendship, where both are interdependent on each other, both are closest to each other and have complete trust in each other - and the other , a love story which started on the basis of almost nothing and still seems to me to be more infatuation than love. Where is the love story in MN? They started off by fighting - one of the most cliched, hackneyed starts (the other being the stud boy meets nerd girl of SG) which so many stories have used, including the famous Armaan Riddhima story - they carried on fighting and they still continue fighting, on the silliest of issues. Their story has progressed at breakneck speed - they met, fought, got attracted, confessed, fought, made up, fought again, made up again ... and are still fighting.
So my question - are they really in love at all?

Mayank - studious quiet guy, not exactly a nerd - all the girls wanted to get near him, but he wasn't interested. So why did Nupur manage to get under his skin? because she was bold and bubbly, because she was everything he didn't like - loud, filmy, over the top, a chatterbox ... and yet, completely comfortable in her own skin? As he was - is that what attracted him? Or what it something more basic - pure physical attraction to a girl whom he could not ignore? Nupur is the first girl who managed to get close to him, the first girl he couldn't manage to ignore, she got under his skin so he had to notice her, interact with her - so is she just an infatuation? Does he really know her? what makes her tick? And if he doesn't, isn't this just infatuation - and not really love? Add to it his obsessive need to keep their relationship secret ... isn't that a sign that he himself isn't sure where they're heading?

Nupur - is she in love with Mayank? Or is she in love with Raj ... with Mayank's face? Her thought processes are easier to follow if I assume the latter. She was always ready to fall in love, she was on the lookout for her Prince Charming, her Raj all along, unlike her studious, quiet sister. And the first guy who first confused the wits out of her, then aroused strong emotions of anger, even hate in her then started behaving strangely, giving her long deep meaningful looks - at least I think that's what they were supposed to be, but AB is a wooden faced actor, so can never be sure ... no wonder the girl started thinking there was something between them. And he was always the one pushing her to declare her feelings - she was never sure it was love - the part I find very believable!!! It was the events in her sister's life which pushed her into declaring her feelings, which made her feel that she was luckier than her sister to have a boy who loved her and she should probably hang onto him. But does she really, truly love him? Or does she love Raj?

It may build into love ... later. As they get to know each other, flaws, warts and all. But to me, at the moment, it isn't love - yet. And if I watch the story from that perspective, then the MN story still has a long way to go. Because it really hasn't started yet.

Changing Shades 10

Leaving her completely and absolutely stupefied, and for once, totally bereft of words, he disappeared.

Aditya drove home, his brain reeling. He had picked up the phone by a genuine mistake. He hadn't heard the ring – it was never directly transmitted to him in his office, but always went to Anjali's desk first. He just hadn't noticed the green light when he punched the button for a line, and had inadvertently found himself eavesdropping on a conversation he was definitely not supposed to overhear. His first instinct had been to cut the line – but something in the caller's voice, and Mansi's hushed, almost scared tones had stopped him from doing so, and he found himself listening. He didn't hear all the conversation, only the latter half, but it was enough. Enough to make him realise that something was terribly, terribly wrong. That Mansi's life was not the ideal holiday he had assumed it to be, and had found pleasure in savagely punishing with his cruel taunts.

He had known – oh, of course he had known that she was not happy at work, but naively, egotistically, he had assumed her discomfort to be due to his presence there, and to her own guilt at having turned him down so many years ago, a tacit admission that he was right about his reasons for her marrying Manish. He had been blind, blind to her feelings, except with regard to his own, his unrequited love had turned into an almost blind hatred, an unbearable jealousy of Manish; every time he visualized them together, a red cloud obscured his thinking, and he couldn’t look beyond that, couldn’t imagine that she could have other troubles than the ones he had found pleasure in giving her at the office.

He cursed himself for his blindness, his selfishness, his ego. As he drove home, he remembered again and again, the ever-present worry and tension in her face, the dark circles under her eyes, the strain in her voice, her posture…everything he had never noticed in her presence came back to haunt him on that short ride home.

He reached home, and made a few quick calls, one to his travel agent, one to a hotel in Kathmandu, and then one to a special contact, a man who owed him a few favours.

Mansi stretched tiredly as the plane touched down, completely exhausted. She wanted nothing more than to get to the nearest bed, and sleep, preferably for ever, she thought, with a grimace. She had barely slept at night what with the tension of anticipation, and had been up early packing and mentally preparing herself for what she might find waiting for her in Kathmandu. Then the wait for the flight, which had, of course, been delayed, and finally the touchdown in a strange town, where she knew no one, except the person who was supposedly waiting for her. The next few hours promised to be the most traumatic ones in her life, she thought and she braced herself mentally as she left the plane and looked around for the man who had promised to be there.

The man was waiting for her, as he had promised. He was a small, thin Nepalese, with a tired, but kind face, and he smiled at her as she approached him.

“Mansi Dewan?” he asked, and when she nodded, he took her case, and led her out.

“I'm sorry to rush you like this, but we really haven't much time,” he said. “I was so afraid I wouldn't be able to find you in time. You don't know how many Dewans there are in Bombay!”

“Where are we going?” asked Mansi, as he ushered her into a waiting car. Neither of them noticed a man in a long overcoat and cap pulled over his eyes following them, nor did they see the car that he got into immediately behind them, which promptly pulled away from the kerb, and followed them into the traffic.

“To the hospital,” replied the other, and held out his hand to her for the first time. “I'm Raj Bahadur, by the way. Pratibha, my sister has told me about you. You don't know her, but she knows you very well. She…she…” he stopped, and looked away. To her horror, Mansi saw a tear roll down his cheek. He looked back at her.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “Maybe it's better she tell you herself.”

“Tell me what?” asked Mansi, completely nonplussed, but Raj Bahadur shook his head, and didn't say much more till they reached their destination.

Mansi got out wonderingly, and looked around her. It was early evening now, and getting dark, but the hospital was well lit, and she could see that it was not very large, but scrupulously clean. Raj Bahadur led the way in, and up the stairs into a landing, where a young girl was waiting anxiously. As they came up, she looked at them eagerly, and Mansi saw that she was very pretty, but very, very thin, almost as though something had eaten her away, to the point of emaciation. She was also, Mansi realised immediately, very sick. She made no attempt to get up from her wheelchair, and her arm, where it lay on the arm of the chair, had tubes running into it.

“Mansi?” said the girl, hesitantly, and Mansi nodded, and came over to her. The girl shrank back.

“No! Don't touch me! Please!”

Mansi looked at her, then back at Raj Bahadur helplessly. “Why? Will one of you please tell me what's going on? What's the matter? And where is Manish? You called me all the way here at a moment's notice for him – where is he? And who are you?”

The girl looked at her helplessly.

“Please, Mansi, Please sit down. I have to tell you everything, and there's not much time. Not for him, anyway. I'm Pratibha.”

“That doesn't tell me anything,” said Mansi, evenly. Pratibha looked at her miserably.

“Manish and I were married about eight months ago,” she said, softly, watching Mansi's face.

Mansi went blank.

She looked at the girl in front of her, her brain in total shock. She tried to speak, but no words came. Her head whirled, and she actually felt giddy for a moment. She put out a hand to steady herself, oblivious of the worried glances of the brother and sister looking at her.

“Married?” she whispered. “Married you…eight months… married?”

Then, with a supreme effort, she collected her scattered wits slowly. She looked at both of them, her face still mirroring her shock, and Raj Bahadur rushed to get her a glass of water. Pratibha looked at her anxiously.

“I'm sorry,” she said, weakly, and Mansi could see the physical effort it took for the girl to speak, her voice coming in short breaths. “He told me he didn't love you, that you didn't love him, had never loved him. I still would not have married him, it was enough for me to just live with him. He didn't want to go back, you know. But when I became pregnant, he insisted we get married. He wanted his child to have his name, and later, when we both became sick, we knew we had to. We didn't know whether the child would survive, whether I would survive, but we knew he would not. And Raj can't look after a child. His only hope was you.”

“Wait,” said Mansi, slowly, painfully. “Tell me the whole story from the start.”

So Pratibha told her. It was a pathetic story, and a short one. Manish had met Pratibha at one of the hangouts for young drug addicts. They both were on drugs, they both enjoyed each other's company, and they found living together, a natural solution. Manish wired his parents for money – the last letter they had received, after which they had sold their business, and moved to Bombay. He kept wiring them for more money, not knowing that his letters went unopened. He never believed their threats, never believed that they would not, and could not, give him any more. But within a couple of months of being with Pratibha, Manish discovered he had AIDS.

Mansi gasped. Pratibha looked at her squarely.

“I didn't leave him. How could I? He had nobody. His parents were not answering his letters, neither were you. So I stayed with him, looked after him. Then I discovered I was pregnant. I just didn't know what to do. I didn't want the baby to be sick. So I went back to my brother. Manish followed me, and insisted I marry him. He said I needn't stay with him, but if we got married here, in Nepal, at least the baby would be registered as his, under his name. It would be legitimate. We were both hoping the baby would be all right. He even promised to give up drugs, if the baby was okay. He wanted me to stay away till the baby arrived, then test it to check. I agreed. He had already told me about his marriage to you, about his father, and how scared he was of him, everything. So we got married, and I stayed with Raj. Till the next bombshell.”

She looked at Mansi again.

“I got TB. I could take some of the medicines, but not all, because of the baby, and TB here in Nepal is drug-resistant – my infection hasn’t been responding to much. We didn’t know whether I would get better or not. We were both shell shocked – we didn't know what to do. For a while we thought of aborting the baby – what was the use of bringing it into this world, when both parents might be dead before long? But while I was pregnant, without my knowledge, Manish started trying to track you down. He thought his parents would have nothing to do with the baby, but he thought…he hoped that you might. He sent Raj, as he was already unable to travel. Raj, bless him, went all the way to Delhi to look for you. He didn’t find you, of course, the people at the house had no idea where you were. With great difficulty, he traced your lawyer, then found you had moved to Bombay. By that time, Manish was in such a state that he couldn't give any names of anybody you might know in Bombay. So Raj started calling up all the Dewans in the phone book one by one. That's how he found you. We had to find you. You were our only hope.”

Mansi swallowed. “Where…where is Manish now?” she asked, almost in a whisper. Raj got up.

“I'll take you to him,” he said. “But be prepared. He will not know you.”

Mansi smiled bitterly.

“He’ll know me,” she said flatly. “He knows me better than I did myself.”

She followed Raj into the small hospital room. And saw her husband for the first time in two years.

She hardly recognized him. He lay, frail and thin, under the covers, an emaciated hand peeping out from the sheet, into which a clear plastic tube dripped fluids. His eyes were closed, and he breathed heavily and noisily. Wires ran from his chest electrodes up to the shelf behind his bed, where the heart and blood pressure monitors bleeped their warnings, and an irregular green tracing paced repetitively across the screen.

He was sleeping. Or was he? The nurse, dressed in protective clothing, gloves, and a mask, looked up at them, and bent back to her work of adjusting the drip rate.

“Visitors? Now? Visiting hours are over.”

“She's just got in from Bombay,” explained Raj Bahadur. The nurse looked at her.

“You may be too late,” she said, not unkindly. “He's been like this for the last couple of weeks. He drifts in and out, but it's not so frequent now.”

“What's happening to him?” asked Mansi, and then felt foolish for asking. The nurse looked at her consideringly.

“You know he has AIDS?” As Mansi nodded, she went on.

“Well, that means his immune system is knocked out. So he's prone to getting bugs which would not bother normal people. Also some cancers. He's got a tumour in the brain, which is making him unconscious from time to time. Now and then we manage to bring down the pressure on his brain, and he becomes lucid. Then he goes off again. He's got a skin cancer. He's got fungus all over his intestines, and that is not responding to any treatment. Then one of his lungs also has a fungus, a different one. What we're worried about, is that the fungus in the lungs may have infected his heart.”

Mansi sat down. It was too much for her. Pratibha wheeled herself in and looked at her. She made as if to say something, then a sound from the bed stopped them both. They whirled around to the bed.

Manish had opened his eyes, and was staring vacantly around.

Pratibha wheeled her chair to his side, and took his hand. “Manish,” she said, softly. “I'm here. I'm here. Can you hear me?”

The hand in hers twitched, then his gaze seemed to become more focussed. He looked at her.

“Pratibha,” his voice was slurred, laborious.

“Did you find them? Did you find ma and baba?”

Pratibha held his hand tightly.

“Manish?” she spoke clearly, slowly. “Can you hear me? Yes, I did find them. I found Mansi, Manish. I found Mansi. She's here. Can you see her?”

Mansi moved so that Manish could see her directly. She felt numb, incapable of speech. Manish turned slightly, and gazed at her vacantly. Then his eyes seemed to focus, and she saw them light with recognition. He struggled for speech.

“Mansi? It's really you?”

She nodded. It was all she was capable of doing.

He spoke again, slowly, with effort, and she could see the pain and the concentration it took for him to stay there, to orient himself.

“How long has it been? Years? Mansi, I'm sorry.”

Changing Shades 9

Anjali looked up, her expression mirroring her shock.

“Mansi! What happened?”

“I've had it,” said Mansi, stuffing her drawings and plans into her briefcase with trembling hands. “I can't work here any more. He wanted to break me, well, he finally has. I'm going to my hostel. If he asks for me, tell him he'll have my resignation in the morning.”

“Mansi, you can't do that! What will you do? The bills…”

“Damn the bills!” said Mansi explosively. “As you said, they're not my concern anyway. I'll starve if I have to, but I cannot work with him anymore. Let him find another slave to work all the god-awful hours he expects and put up with the abuse also. I refuse to keep apologizing for what happened four years ago. I've paid for it enough, I don't have to pay any more, and not to him!”

She laid her briefcase on the table, her hands still shaking. In her mind, she heard her voice … ‘Manish knew everything,’ … she saw again the look on her husband’s face as he faced her on their wedding night with his knowledge of her love … and his contorted, twisted sense of triumph … when her personal journey into hell had started.

Anjali was aghast. She had never seen Mansi in this state. She came up to the other girl and put her arms around her.
“Mansi, what happened? What did he say? Mansi, calm down, for god's sake. You can't go home like this!”

“I'm going,” Mansi said, more calmly. She looked at Anjali in something akin to despair, her voice husky with unshed tears as she spoke.

“You see, Angel, the problem is that he doesn't know I would have given my right arm to be free to love him all those years ago. And I still would. But I’m not free – my life’s not my own – and it never has been. Anyway, forget it. He is not going to forgive me, and I can't make him understand. He doesn't want to understand. So the best thing is that I don't work here anymore. He's won. He wanted to break me, to drive me out of here – well, he has. Tell him I'll send the plans with the revisions in the morning, with my resignation.”

She picked up her bag, and made to move to the door. Anjali watched her helplessly.

Just then, the phone rang, startling them both.

“Who could it be, at this time of evening?” muttered Anjali, as she rushed to get it.

“Maybe the boss, saying he's had a heart attack?” asked Mansi half-jokingly, then she continued … “oh, can’t be – he doesn’t have a heart.” They both smiled wanly. Anjali picked up the phone.

“Suri Constructions, good evening. Can I help you?” she said, schooling her face into a solemn expression, then her face changed. “Just a moment , please.”

She held out the phone to Mansi, her face serious.

“It's for you. Some guy. Says he's calling from Kathmandu.”

Mansi looked at her, her own face changing, and the color draining from it. She came hesitantly forward, and her hand shook just a little as she took the phone.

“Hello?”

She listened for a while. “Yes, I am Mansi Dewan, that's right. Yes, I am an architect. What?”

Her face still pale, Mansi listened to the caller for another minute, then her voice very low, she answered again.

“Yes, that is correct. I am. Who are you?”

She listened again, and Anjali watched, getting more and more concerned. Mansi looked as though she was talking to a ghost. Her voice almost threadlike, she spoke again.

“I'll be there as soon as I can. Can you give me a contact number or an address? I'll call you as soon as I reach, or as soon as I get organized.”

She took a pen and wrote something on the pad next to her. Then she spoke again.

“Right, I'll get my ticket done and try to be there tomorrow morning at the latest. I will call you when I get there. Thank you.”

She made to put down the phone, then quickly spoke again.

“Just a minute. What is your name, and does he know you are calling me?”

She listened again, then put the phone down with a brief word. She turned to Anjali.

“Anjali, you'll have to cover my back from Aditya. Maybe for a day or two, I don't know how long. Can you do it?”

“Of course,” said Anjali, instantly. “You don't have to ask.”

Mansi nodded, and picked up the phone again, calling their travel agency. She quickly booked a single ticket to Kathmandu, and putting down the phone, looked at her watch.

“I don't have much time,” she muttered. “I'd better leave right away.”

Anjali looked at her.

“What's this all about?” she asked directly. “Or would you rather not say anything?”

Mansi smiled, but there was strain in her smile. She said one word.

“Manish.”

“He's there? In Kathmandu?”

Mansi nodded. “Seems to be. How they traced me, I don't know. I'll find out soon enough. Anjali, if Aditya comes comes, please make some excuse for me. I may need a couple of days, there seems to be some major problem.”

“Are you going to tell your in-laws?” Anjali asked. Mansi shook her head.

‘No, I don't know if this is a wild goose chase. I'll go to the nursing home, break my fast, and then go home. The flight is early morning. I don't want to raise their hopes, if there is a mistake. Let me find out first. I'll come back and tell them.’

“And Aditya?” Anjali asked quietly. Mansi looked at her helplessly, then she did something she had never done before. She came into Anjali's arms, rested her head on the other girl's shoulder, closed her eyes and held her tight.

“I need him,” she whispered, so softly, that Anjali barely heard her. “Oh, God, how I need my Adi …”

Neither of them noticed Aditya standing just outside the room, in the corridor, watching them, nor did they notice as he stepped quietly and noiselessly back.

Anjali hugged her back, her throat aching with unshed tears.

“Go,” she said, her voice suspiciously husky. “I'll handle Aditya.”

Mansi nodded and stepped back.

“What will you tell him?” she asked, as she got her things together rapidly. Anjali looked at her a little wickedly, wanting to lighten her mood.

‘I'll tell him you're pregnant and having morning sickness,’ she said happily, and Mansi looked at her for a horrified moment, and a smile grew on her face.

“You'll do it, too, if I know you,” she grinned, “but please, I think I need to live a little longer. Could you possibly think of another excuse that won't endanger my life?”

Anjali laughed. “I'll try,” she promised. “Now, off with you.”

Mansi nodded and disappeared. Anjali sat down with a sigh, frowning, as she tried to think of what to say to Aditya.

She needn't have bothered. He walked in a couple of minutes later, whistling, as though without a care in the world, greeted her and went straight into his office. After a little while he came out, and came to Mansi's desk, casually picked up her pad, on which she had written the Kathmandu address, and tore off the paper, while Anjali watched, horrified, completely unable to say a word.

“Cat got your tongue?” he asked, casually. “What's happening around here?”

“N…nothing much,” she managed to say, watching as he glanced at the piece of paper, before crumpling it in his hand, then she breathed more easily, as he wrote something on the fresh page of the pad.

“Can you contact these people for me?” he said, handing her the paper. “I have an appointment with them tomorrow afternoon. Reschedule it for next week, will you?”

She nodded, thankfully, and waited for him to ask about Mansi. But he didn't, and she didn't notice, as she looked at the paper he had handed her, that he had put the crumpled one in his pocket. He went back into his office, and she was left wondering at his uncharacteristic behaviour.

She wasn't left to wonder long. In about half an hour, he came out of his office, closing the door. Anjali looked at him in surprise.

“You're off, Aditya?”

“Yes, I am. Cancel all my other appointments, as well, will you, Anjali? For the week.”

“Week?” she stuttered, in complete shock. “Wh…wh…where are you going?”

He leaned over her desk casually.

“Kathmandu, of course. Where else?”

Leaving her completely and absolutely stupefied, and for once, totally bereft of words, he disappeared.

Changing Shades 8

Things could not have gone on the same way for much longer, and they didn't.

But how matters would come to a head, Mansi could not have even dreamed.

Aditya came into office a few weeks later in a temper. He was early, and neither Mansi nor Anjali was in yet. He barked at Suresh, and sent him scurrying off to call the girls. When Anjali came in, he barked at her too. She answered back politely but fearlessly, and he grouched into his room.

“Send Mansi in when she comes,” he shot at her. “And you can tell her if she's late again, she can look for another job. I don't tolerate nonsense in my office.”

“She's not late, you are early,” Anjali replied, calmly. “She left at past 2 last night. The plans you need are on your desk. She left them there.”
“How do you know?” he barked, and Anjali looked at him coolly. “She called me last night to tell me,” she said, making no attempt to hide her annoyance. “She was afraid she might be late today, because she left so late, so she wanted me to wake her up in the morning.”

Aditya stared at her.

“She's got a whole army of servants to wake her up, and she wants you to call her?”

Anjali didn't reply. She got busy with her computer, and didn't look at him.

“I'll have this lot of letters and the proposal finished by the morning,” she said, briskly. “Is there anything else you need done today?”

“I'll call you when there is,” he said. “Send Mansi in when she comes.”

Anjali didn't look up till he had closed his door, then she stopped her work and gave a sigh of relief.

“Boy oh boy, you nearly blew that one, woman,” she admonished herself, and looked up with a smile, as Mansi opened the door cautiously and came in.

“Storm warning,” she said, briefly. Mansi sighed.

“I really can't take it today,” she muttered, collapsing into her chair. “I'm exhausted, and on top of that, I just got 2 hours of sleep last night. Mummy called in the morning at 5! She wanted to remind me to eat something. It's karva chauth.”

Anjali stared at her disbelievingly.
“Do you still keep it?”

“I didn't the last two years,” confessed Mansi. “It's all over, except in name, so I didn't. I don't think of him as my husband any more, anyway.”

“Then why…” began Anjali, and Mansi looked at her with a twisted smile.

“You'll tell me I'm a fool, again, and I need my head examined. Maybe I do, at that.”

Anjali whistled. “You are,” she agreed. Then she hugged the other girl. “But he’s a bigger fool! He's an idiot if he doesn't appreciate your worth. Mansi, tell him, please. Tell him about Manish.”

Mansi shook her head stubbornly and Anjali sighed defeatedly.

“I thought I told you to send Mansi in as soon as she came,” barked a voice, and both the girls jumped. Aditya was standing at the door of his office, looking decidedly grim. Mansi got up with a sigh. She gave Anjali a look of 'here we go again', and walked towards Aditya's office.

“The plans are already on your table,” she said. “I did finish them last night.”

“I think that either I'm retarded or you are,” he retorted. “I cannot understand what you have done at all. Could you be so kind as to explain what you have drawn? Where are the revisions I asked for?”

That was the beginning. Mansi was exhausted, and she answered back far more sharply than she ever had before. They had a roaring fight, and at the end of it, Aditya stomped out of his office.

“I have a meeting with this client, and I'll be back only after lunch. I want the plans done by then, with all the revisions,” he barked at her.

“You're not asking for revisions, you're asking me to do the whole lot again,” she answered back. “I can't possibly have them done by the afternoon.”

“You'd better, or you're out of this office,” he retorted, and walked out.

Mansi stared after him, almost at the end of her tether. Then she got determinedly back to work.

“He is not going to get me down, nor is he going to drive me out of this office,” she vowed to herself, as she picked up her pencils again.

She was still working when Anjali popped into the room at 6 o'clock.
“It's evening, aren't you going?” she asked Mansi. “You have to go to the nursing home today, don't you?”

“Can't leave before he comes and checks these,” said Mansi briefly, looking up. Anjali gave an exclamation.
“You're done in, Mansi. Go home and get some rest. You haven't eaten anything the whole day. You'll drop dead, the way you're going.”

“I should be so lucky,” replied Mansi, and looked over Anjali's shoulder. “The tyrant is back, Anjali. You'd better get back to your desk before he accuses us of wasting our time gossiping.”

She was at breaking point, and didn't seem to care that Aditya heard every word she said, indeed her words seemed to be aimed at him. Anjali scuttled back to her desk, and Aditya passed her to come into his room and slam the door. He looked at Mansi and it was clear her words had found their mark. If she had intended to provoke him, she had succeeded.

He came up to her and grasped her by the shoulders.

“Don't ever…” he hissed at her in a low, menacing tone “…ever talk to my staff like that.”

“Like what?” asked Mansi innocently. “Oh, you mean, don't call you a tyrant? All right, I won't. She knows it, anyway.”

She was hurting from the pressure he was applying to her shoulders, his fingers digging into her flesh, but she didn't care. Something had finally snapped in her, a combination of the last few months' tiredness, the fights, the tension, and her own exhaustion and hunger, and she felt almost lightheaded as she faced him.

“You are trying to undermine my authority with my staff,” he said furiously. “And, for the record, you are part of the staff here, so…”

“So what?” she retorted. “Are you threatening to fire me? All right, go ahead and do it. Fire me.”

She looked at him and laughed bitterly.

“No, you won't fire me, will you, Aditya? You will never fire me. It gives you too much pleasure to see me here, under your authority, obeying your orders, being completely at your mercy. Face it, Adi, you're not finding fault with my work, are you? For the last four months, you've been punishing me for what I did four years ago, and my work has nothing to do with it. And you want to continue punishing me, so…”

“You flatter yourself,” he broke in furiously. “You and I were finished four years ago, before we even started. There is nothing between us now, so don't manufacture anything, or give yourself imaginary reasons for your inadequacy.”

“My inadequacy!” she cried. “How is it that you are the only person who thinks I'm inadequate? Mr. Suri didn't think so, our clients didn't think so, only the great Aditya Khanna, who is such a brilliant architect, finds fault with my work. No, Aditya, that won't wash. Just because Manish…”

“Don't take his name!” snapped Aditya. “I don't want to hear his name. He has nothing to do with this. Keep him at home, don't bring him into my office.”

“He has everything to do with this,” retorted back Mansi. “He is the cause of all this tension between us, and he doesn't even know it.”

“I said, don't talk about him,” ground out Aditya. Mansi looked at him squarely.

“Why shouldn't I talk about him. He is my husband, he has a right to know how I'm being treated at work, and by somebody who claims to be his friend.”

“Our friendship ended when he got married,” said Aditya savagely. He came to her and grasped her by her upper arms in a grip that hurt, his eyes burning as he looked at her. “Come on, Mansi, tell me that he didn't know you loved me and I loved you. Tell me that he didn't know that there were never only the two of you in your bed. Tell me he didn't know that when you kissed him, it was my face you saw…”

“He knew everything! That was why …!” shouted Mansi. Then she clapped her hand over her mouth and stared at him. He looked back at her, stunned. His hands dropped like stone.

“He knew … everything,” she whispered, her tone anguished. She looked away from him and out of the window, and the anger, the fight went out of both of them suddenly. She looked around at him, and he stared back at her. The room seemed warmer suddenly, sparks flying between them, the tension in the air so thick that it was almost difficult to breathe. Then suddenly, she turned and picked up her plans. Without a word, she walked out of the room.

Changing Shades 7

She was still sitting there when Aditya came. He approached so quietly that she didn't hear him.

He watched her from a distance for a while, seeing the eyes gazing blindly into the distance, her expression disturbed, her body held in rigid lines showing her tension.

“Anjali said I might find you here,” he said, and she jumped, her face draining of color as she turned around to face him. His expression changed to one of concern.

“Are you all right?”

“You startled me,” she managed. “What are you doing here?”

“Inspecting the site, the same as you are,” he replied easily. “I am supposed to take over, you know. I should start my new job as soon as possible, don't you think?"

Belatedly she remembered that he was her boss now. “I'm sorry,” she said, uncomfortably. “I shouldn't have said that the way I did. You're right. It's your project now.”

“No, it isn't,” he said, and sat down beside her. “It's still yours. Mr. Suri made that very clear. Quite his little blue eyed girl, aren't you?”

She kept quiet, sensing that something was coming. She knew him too well not to recognize the hard note in his voice, underlying the casual words he had spoken.

She didn't have too long to wait. “Tell me, Mansi,” he asked, still in that casual tone. “How do you manage it?”

“Manage what?”

“You know. Manage to get all these old men wound so firmly around your little finger that they will do anything for you. Uncle gave you his son and his business, Mr. Suri is practically dying to hand over his business to you. He made it very clear when I took over, that you and your job were not to be touched, and the deal was by no means final. The firm is not mine yet, and it may never be. You have done rather well for yourself, haven't you? And to think I used to feel sorry for you! You must have laughed at me! You were perfectly able to manage things for yourself. Who needs love? You want all the good things in life, and so what if it's only old men who can give them to you. Old men don't live forever, and till they do, well, grin and bear it. Isn't that right?”

She looked at him quietly, not answering his anger, feeling his hurt. After so many years, he still carried the bitterness of their last meeting with him. She had known he would find it very difficult to forgive, but that he would be so bitter, she had not thought.

“I know why you think so badly of me, Aditya,” she managed quietly, looking away from the fire in his eyes. “But can't you at least try to understand why I did what I did? You know it wasn't like that. Do you honestly think I'm so materialistic? I don't think so, Aditya. You, of all people, know me better than that.”

“I thought I knew you,” he returned. “But obviously, I was wrong. I didn't know you at all. The girl I fell in love with, or thought I fell in love with, was not like you. She would never have done what you did. She would have had the courage to stop, not go through something her heart did not want.”

“I could not!” she cried, her heart aching for his understanding. “Can't you understand that I just could not do that? I could never have cried off at that time, even if I had wanted to. Is that what you want to hear? Do you want to hear from me that I loved you, and still married Manish? All right, I'll say it. I loved you. I married him. What does that make me? A coward? A fool? Do you think you're the only one who suffered?”

“What did you suffer?” he asked savagely. “You got a beautiful home, a rich husband, a family, security, lots of money, and doting in-laws, who would give you the world, and make sure that their son did the same. What did you suffer? No, Mansi. You didn’t love me. You were only out for what you could get. And you still are. It must have been a shock to find out that Mr. Suri was not going to hand over the company to you, lock, stock and barrel, but got me in here instead. Why did you want this company too? Are your tastes so expensive that all the money you already have, isn't enough? You want more and more?”

“What are you saying, Aditya?” she cried. “Listen to me. I have suffered, Aditya. How I suffered, you can't even begin to imagine. Don't you really want to know why I'm working here? What happened…?”

“No,” he said, cutting her off abruptly. “I don't want to know. I don't want to know anything. Don't say anything, Mansi. It's no use. What's done is done. It's over and done with. I've moved on in my life, and…" he looked at her in cold appraisal, taking in the expensive suit she was wearing, and the large earrings glinting in her ears (one about five years old, and the other artificial, if only he had known that), "…you obviously have, too. I suppose you and Manish know what you're doing for you to be working here, but it is no concern of mine.”

He stood up, and moved away. Than he looked back at her, and his eyes were cold, bleak.

“Understand one thing, Mansi. From now on, you and I are colleagues. Just that. No more. The college days are over, and we have, all of us, moved on. I don't want to know anything about your and Manish's personal life, and I don't intend to let you into mine. There's been too much between us for us even to be friends, and I will not make that pretense. We work together in the office, and that is all. Do you understand?”

“Can't I at least try to tell you, to make you understand…?” she began, but he cut her off brusquely.

“I told you, Mansi, no. There is nothing personal between us. I don't want to know. I'm not interested any more. I was in love with you once upon a time. You killed that love. Now there is nothing, absolutely nothing between us, and there can never be, again. Not even friendship. Least of all, friendship. We work together, that's all. And yes, there’s no need to tell Manish that you work for me now. In one stroke, you killed that friendship as well, and now there’s no going back. Now let's go and check the drainage that you were worried about.”

He turned and walked off rapidly down the hill, leaving her standing like a stone, staring after him. And as cold as stone was the coldness in her heart, as she watched the familiar figure stride off towards the workmen on the site.

Don't do this to me, she whispered, but it was to herself. Haven't I been punished enough? If only, she thought bleakly, if only I had at that time had the courage, the conviction in my love, to tell my uncle, Manish, his parents, that I could not go through with the wedding. If only I had had the courage to tell Aditya that yes, I do love you, I love you more than life itself, and always will. But I didn't. I thought that my duty was stronger then my love, and I've condemned myself for a lifetime. He doesn't even want to know anything, he doesn't want to talk to me, he doesn't want to know me.

Slowly she moved, her legs feeling like lead, as she walked down the hill to join him. He was talking to the contractor, his brow furrowed, and he turned his head as she came up.

“Mansi, this man says that the incline seems to be different from what is indicated in the plan. That means we may have to alter the site of the drain system. Do you have the plans with you?”

She looked at him blindly, barely hearing what he was saying. He looked at her impatiently. The confrontation of the last few minutes seemed to have been wiped out of his mind.

“Mansi, the plans, please?”

She registered what he was saying at last.

“The plans?”

“The plans for this site. The drain system. Can you understand or do I have to spell it out for you?”

“They…they're in the car,” she managed weakly, and he continued to look at her with the same impatience.

“Then can you get them, please? I need to take a look at them. How is it that this problem didn't come up before? Didn't you check the incline?”

“I'll get the plans and check,” she said, stammering, and half walked, half ran to her car to fetch them.

He looked at the papers, frowning.

“I'll have a look at these in the office,” he told the contractor. “Get back to you tomorrow. In the meantime, don't start the work on the pipes yet.”

The man nodded respectfully, and moved away to his workmen. Aditya looked at Mansi, and she winced from the ice in his eyes.

“Get back to the office,” he said. “We need to go over these. If there is a mistake, it may need a major revision, and some cost increase. You realize that, don't you?”

She nodded. She couldn't trust her voice.

“Just remember,” he continued in the same hard voice. “I do not and will not tolerate slipshod work in my office. Please be more careful in the future. Now get moving. I have my own car.”

He turned and walked off to his car, and she followed to her vehicle. She didn't have a car of her own, using the office car for all her work on site. Mr Suri had never had a problem with that. She began to think, with a sinking feeling, that Aditya just might.

There was a problem with the incline, which entailed a change in the plans. It was not major, however, and so Mansi was completely unprepared for the tongue-lashing which Aditya gave her for the mistake.

“You were a good architect in the old days,” he said, with ice in his voice. “I suppose with so many years of doing what you pleased, you've let your work slip. But this is not your company any more, and I am not here to provide you with pocket money at the expense of my clients. If you want to continue here, there are certain standards, which you will have to maintain. If you don't, you can look for another job, or just sit at home and let your husband earn for you. Might be better.”

“You don't have to make sexist remarks,” she flashed. “If you're not happy with my work, tell me that. You don't have to bring my husband into it. As for being a good architect, remember who used to fight with you for the top position in college.”

“So can I see some of that work, please?” he answered, caustically. “And we're not in college now. We're working to build real buildings for real people, and we cannot make mistakes now. Now, mistakes cost money, either the firm's or the client's. Remember that in future.”

That first clash seemed to set the tone for the weeks and months ahead. Aditya seemed to take delight in finding fault with her – only with her work. He did not make any personal remarks again. But he criticized her constantly, threw barbed remarks all the time and was always ready to make changes to her plans and schedules. Mansi's office, which had become a haven for her, where she could forget herself in her work, now became a living hell. Earlier, she used to be impatient to get to work, out of her little cubbyhole of a room, and would spend far longer in the office than she needed, to postpone her return home. Now she got to work in time – just. But once she was there, Aditya did not let up for a minute, and she could not leave early, either. He made sure of that. She worked late, trying to keep up with the load he piled on her, often reaching back to her hostel after midnight, and going without food, as the canteen was closed. But she could not tell any of this to Aditya, or to anyone.

Anjali noticed the shadows under her eyes, the pale complexion, and grew concerned. She left by 6 every evening, so she didn't know how late Mansi was working, or how little she was eating. But she saw the other girl grow paler and more tired looking, and tried to remonstrate with her.

“What are you doing to yourself?” she asked her furiously. “Do you want to kill yourself or something? Mansi, what's the matter with you?”

“Nothing,” Mansi tried to brush her off with a smile, but Anjali wasn't having any of it.

“Don't you tell me 'nothing',” she said. “I can see with my own eyes. What is happening between you and him?”

‘Nothing is happening between me and him,” said Mansi, and tried to smile. “It's just that the work pressure seems to be more. Those last couple of projects don't seem to be fitting into place.”

“You mean he's turning down all the plans you show him,” guessed Anjali, shrewdly. She was able to hear parts of the conversations from Aditya's room, from her desk just outside. Mansi looked at her in despair.

“Anjali…”

“Why is he being such a beast?” said Anjali, furiously. “Doesn't he know… ?”

“He doesn't,” said Mansi flatly. She had told Anjali some of the story earlier, the bare details, just enough to satisfy the other girl’s curiosity. But she couldn’t bring herself to tell her of Aditya’s disgust for her, of his conviction that she was nothing but a gold-digger, of his seeming hatred for both her and Manish. “He doesn't want to know, and I forbid you to tell him. If he thinks he is punishing me for some sin I've committed, imaginary or real, then let him get his satisfaction. I refuse to beg for mercy, or kneel at his feet. It's his macho pride, which is hurting. Let him take out all his anger. I can take it.”

Mansi was hurting - badly, but her pride was too strong to let him know that. She bore his remarks stoically, doing all the work he gave her, making unnecessary revisions without complaining, knowing he was pushing her to see how far she would bend before she would break. But she didn't intend to give him that satisfaction, not yet. She would not let him see her break.

Anjali was furious.

“You both are mad,” she told Mansi, angrily. “He's pushing you, and you're getting pushed. Both of you are so busy making each other miserable, that you don't even realize what you're doing to each other. One day, one of you has to give. And it won't be him. Tell him, Mansi. Tell him about Manish. Tell him you still love him.”

“He doesn't want to hear anything,” retorted Mansi, obstinately. “And he's told me so himself. If he doesn't want to hear it, I don't want to tell him. And tell him for what? Only to hear him say, I told you so? I told you that you should not have married Manish? No thanks, Angel. I refuse to crawl in front of him.”

“Very well,” said Anjali, angrily. “Stay miserable. I think you're a masochist. But if that makes you happy, so be it. Only, you're not happy, Mansi.”

Mansi shrugged and got on with her work. There was a lot of it, in any case.