Secrets Hidden In Time

08 | Head-to-Head



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Song - Seyahat ( Yali Capkini)

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08 | Head-to-Head

A week had passed since the incident at the hotel. The only sounds audible in the house in these seven days were Anirudh's squeals and blabbering.

Mahadevan didn't know if Hinduja was genuinely busy in work, as she told him, or she was just plainly avoiding him. She would wake up before anyone else, make breakfast and lunch for them all, wake Anirudh up, do all his chores and feed him his breakfast, then she would get ready herself, have her own breakfast and keep his own share of the morning meal plus his nutrient dense lunch pail on the kitchen countertop. By that time, Geeta would arrive and take charge of Anirudh and all the other household chores from there, following which Hinduja would rush to her office. All this would happen before seven in the morning, so by the time he woke up, she would be gone.

She would video call Geeta in the afternoon to check up on Anirudh. In the evenings, dinner was either prepared by Hinduja herself if she was on time, or Geeta would prepare it if Hinduja was late. She would come home by eight-thirty at night, they would all have their dinner, following which Geetanjali would then wash all the dishes while Hinduja hand-washed Anirudh's clothes, played with Anirudh for some time, put him to sleep after which she would be off to the spare room which was used by her as an office. There was basically no interaction between them at all. He didn't know if this affected her at all or not because it was clearly not visible through her actions or her countenance, but this silence between them was gravely affecting him.

During the initial years of him working in the corporate sector, he had a paucity of money. Going against everyone in the family, his grandfather sent him off into the fiercely ruthless and competitive world on his own.

"If he wants to go to college, he has to earn it! I won't give him a penny as donation for his higher education, neither will you or his mother!"

Hence, under the old man's watchful eye, he had burnt the midnight oil every day to clear the entrance exam.

In college again, his grandfather closely monitored his progress every day, every week, every month, and every year. His parents strictly abided by the senior Dogra's words. Hence, not a rupee from their bank accounts was transferred to the college administration as his college fee. His entire higher education was solely funded through scholarships, study loans, and the money he earned by doing odd jobs here and there.

With strictly no financial support from his family and no powerplay from their side, he had climbed up the stairs of the cruel business hierarchy alone. Sure, he had a considerable salary package transferred into his bank account at the end of every month, but only one-fourth of it remained by the end of the first week of the month. The rent of his accommodation, the installments of his student loan, he didn't even own a vehicle at that time so the commutation fee, electricity bill, water bill, groceries, gas—once an avid lover of restaurant food and high end fast food chains—he had learnt the essential skill of cooking to fill his stomach, washing his own clothes, mopping and sweeping, simply being unable to afford any of those luxuries he had earlier. And that's how from the shadows of a protected and silk-stocked young boy surrounded with several housekeepers and opulence all around him, emerged a responsible, principled, and cultured man of honour. A man who knew what the real world was like beyond the lofty and potent barricades of the Dogra manor, a man who was cognizant of the value of money, the calibre of all his privileges by birth and for sure a man who understood the worth of his individuality; his identity.