Tanhaiyan | neirohi

21. what my luck

Dr. Goenka-Birla held her head in her hands. Her face flushed with embarrassment, on recalling the events which occurred last week. Her reaction was uncalled for, she was aware. But what else was she supposed to do? She had a solid policy—you start something well, you make sure it finishes well. To be left on such a high was frustrating, especially at that moment. It takes one a great deal to put your senses aside and go for something, cause there's something about the moment when you simply want it. Just like that. Without thinking about the consequences, to lose yourself into it. And she was someone who did that only on very rare occasions.

Gripping her stethoscope, she spoke to herself, "Aarohi, you are the best. Get a hold on yourself. Doctor hain tooh! Agar hormones ke baare main tujhe nahi pata hoga, toh kisko pata hoga? It just happens at times and it won't happen again. Relax. Take a deep breath."

She paced around in the small, squeezed space in the lift. She had been running away for one week, she knew that she couldn't do it anymore. She caught hold of her face in the mirror, tinged pink through and through. Fanning herself, she tried to get rid of the pink. Once she was sure that she could handle it, she walked out.

Sneaking into her own house, she casually looked around. Seeing no one around, she had a hugh sigh of relief. What a luck she had!

"Chipkali bani chor? Not bad!"

What a bad luck she had!

The time she took to turn around and face him had to be the slowest seconds recorded in history. He sat there at the corner of the dining table, almost as good as invisible. No wonder she couldn't spot him. She gritted her teeth, stretching out a forced smile as she sat down next to him.

Be cool.

She served herself with some juice, having eaten from the cafeteria already. He was busy scrolling up and down his phone. Maybe he did forget about it. Curious, she did peek into the bright screen, it showed the review page of some restaurant. He slid the phone to her side, and let her patiently go through it.

"What's this?"

"Agency's new project. Advertising for this resto."

"You do that everyday right? What's special about this one?" she asked, confused. The head and tail of his marketing and planning tactics was something she never understood, no matter how much she listened to his rants. But yes, his office drama stories were fun. For real.

"On the paper it's all clean. This is a small business, they don't even have enough capital. But they offered a hefty sum for this advertisement. Fishy, nahi?"

"Go on Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

"So I thought of casually going through their social media accounts. And just casual surfing. Social media and all are again, taken good care of. But yeh dikh raha hain? The rate and review pages?"

She did a quick scan. The comments were pretty bad. From substandard services to fraudulent, they had been called everything. A small outlet cannot have this much negative publicity unless there was some real issue.

"I visited that place on the way back from work. Customers, regular and non-regulars have great opinions. Bas online mein kuch gadbhad hain."

"You mean to say that someone's doing it purposely? Like, competition and paid targeting?" she asked, her gears running for once. He nodded, slightly proud. Mrs. Sherlock Holmes did live up to her name. He watched her go through the comments again, and nod. Incidentally, she let out a laugh.

"What is it chipkali?"

"Read this one. Oh Kukkad resto waalo, your chicken is horrible! Even your butter chicken curry is delululu like you! And I noticed, ki tum chicken ke official page ko follow karte ho. But you don't follow paneer's official page? How rude delululu! Even your customers are delululu like you!"

By the time she ended, both of them were cracking their heads out. To be a literate illiterate is an honor of a kind. Something which not every passerby had. Covering up her snorts, she barely managed to let out.

"And what is this delulululu? Lag toh aise raha hain ki poor things have learnt only four out of the twenty-six alphabets they were supposed to. Isiliye kaam toh sirf chaar letters seh chalana pad raha hain."

He held onto her chair to steady himself, bringing himself closer. Leaning in, he had his chin jutted over her shoulder to have a better view of the comments. He snickered silently as she read out each one, both of them shaking from head to toe with all the laughing. Noticing a similar pattern, he asked.

"And how do all of them have such similar usernames? Shoes ki kaatein, paani ki boondein, faaltu ki baatein—what is this? Don't they have real id's?"

"Fake naam daalne ke baad bhi unko koyi seriously nahi leta. If they put their real names as well, phir say tata bye bye to all possible promotions and job opportunities. I suppose no one wants to be a public joke. Plus, everyone does online checks these days."

Sighing, he placed his chin on the comfortable patch of fat. She titled her head to check what happened as she felt some sort of weight on her shoulder, expecting his hand to be resting. As her hair hit his face, he shut his eyes at the alluring scent of vanilla and peppermint. Never changed that one. It was still the same. Centimeters apart, she could reach out for the chapped lips if she wanted to. Gulping, she turned forward before he opened his eyes, looking anywhere and everywhere. But not at him.

Why always them? Why?

He widened his eyes, blinking. He could not have been mistaken about the warm breath which fanned his face seconds ago. He leaned back slightly, an effort to put some space between them. "I need to use the washroom," she declared abruptly and walked out. He watched the fading black dress, till she disappeared from his sight.

Again.

What my luck!

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