Threads of Fate

Naina

The city of dreams, Bombay, was waking up. The horizon shimmered as the first rays of sunlight painted the skyline in hues of gold, teasing the slumbering sea awake. The rhythmic hum of early morning activity began to ripple through the streets below—vendors setting up stalls, the clatter of milk cans, the distant honk of a bus navigating its way through narrow lanes. And somewhere amidst the throbbing heart of Bombay was a woman who embodied the very essence of this city: Naina Aggarwal.

Standing by the floor-to-ceiling window of her duplex flat, Naina sipped her coffee, her gaze fixed on the horizon where the sun met the sea. She was calm, composed, and fiercely self-reliant. Life had thrown challenges her way, but she had caught each one, spinning them into threads of success. Her duplex reflected her personality—a blend of grace and functionality.

The lower floor was warm and welcoming, with beige walls adorned with fashion illustrations and photographs from her most successful shows. A plush cream sofa sat near a glass coffee table stacked with design magazines, and an understated bookshelf stood in the corner, housing her favorite reads. The upstairs, her sanctuary, was another world—a workshop where her dreams were stitched into reality.

Naina's journey to success was as carefully crafted as her designs. Born into modest circumstances, she had lost her father at a young age. Her mother, Bela, had held the family together, shouldering burdens no one should face alone. And Naina, determined not to let her mother's sacrifices go in vain, had worked relentlessly to carve out a space for herself in the fiercely competitive world of fashion.

Yet, beneath the layers of her strength was a woman who had endured the scars of doubt, criticism, and societal expectations.

Descending the stairs, Naina entered the dining area where the smell of freshly made puris enveloped her like a warm hug. Bela was at the stove, a picture of quiet strength and maternal warmth. Her simple cotton sari and neatly tied bun spoke of a woman who had chosen simplicity over indulgence, but her eyes—soft yet sharp—revealed a fierce love for her daughters.

At the table sat Preeti, Naina's younger sister, dressed in a crisp kurta, her hair tied back in a sleek ponytail. Preeti, with her sharp wit and pragmatic approach, was a force to be reckoned with in her own right. As the media head at a leading news channel, she had built a name for herself, one smart headline at a time.

"Chal Naina, breakfast kar le. Puri thandi ho jaayegi," Bela said, her voice brimming with affection as she placed a plate of piping hot puris on the table.

Naina smiled faintly, sitting down. Despite her usual aversion to fried food, she couldn't resist her mother's cooking. Bela's puris weren't just food—they were a reminder of home, love, and the small joys that made life bearable amidst its chaos.

"Maa, aapko pata hai na, mujhe puri zyada pasand nahi. Lekin jab aap banati hain, toh manna karna mushkil ho jaata hai," she teased, her tone light but affectionate.

Preeti chuckled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Aur kaun mana kar sakta hai maa ki in amazing puriyon  ko?"

The moment was warm, almost idyllic, until Naina's phone buzzed, jolting her back to reality. She glanced at the screen, her smile fading as she read the message.

"Oo bai Naina, tune bataya nahi tera fashion show hai.. tujhe kya hi umeed rakhna...  aise bhi aaj  samiksha ka important kaam hai..."

The sender was none other than, Kamini, her Bua, her father's sister.

Preeti, always attuned to Naina's moods, noticed the change. "Kya hua? Kamini Bua ka text?"

Wordlessly, Naina handed over her phone. Preeti read the message aloud, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. "Wah, kya dosti nibhai ja rahi hai..". Rolling her eyes, she added,"Inme bhi alag hi talent hai.. Mood kharab karne ka.. "

Bela, turning from the stove, frowned slightly, her maternal instincts flaring. "Kamini ko abhi tak samajh nahi aaya tumhari mehnat ka. Hamesha aise baatein karti hai."

Kamini Aggarwal was the family's resident cynic and Naina's self-appointed critic. The elder sister of Naina's late father, Kamini carried an air of entitlement, perpetually comparing her children's achievements—or lack thereof—to Naina's towering success. For Kamini, Naina's resilience was both a mystery and a threat, and her passive-aggressive remarks were her weapon of choice.

Preeti, never one to let Kamini's jabs slide, smirked. "Naina, you should send her a reply: 'Aapko bata ke fayda kya hota? Aap toh waise bhi nahi aati.'"

Naina shook her head, her lips curving into a resigned smile. "Preeti, mujhe uski baaton se farq nahi padta. Log bolte rehte hain... Aur inka to roz ka hai... Good morning ke alwa sab likh deti hai.. "

But the truth was more nuanced. Kamini's words didn't just sting—they reminded Naina of her struggles, of the countless nights she had spent proving her worth, not just to the world but to herself.

"Naina," Bela said gently, placing a hand on Naina's shoulder, "jo log tumhari success se jalte hain, unko ignore karna seekh lo. Tumne apni mehnat se yeh sab haasil kiya hai... Aur koi tumse yeh sab cheen nahi sakta..  isiliye tumhe yeh sab bol kar khud ko do pal ki khushi deta hai.. "

Preeti added, her voice firm and confident, "Aur waise bhi, Kamini Bua ke taunts are just proof that you've made it."

Despite their reassurances, Naina felt the familiar knot in her chest. The shadows of her past lingered, but she pushed them aside. Today wasn't about Kamini or her words. It was about the future she had built, one stitch at a time.

As breakfast wrapped up, Naina grabbed her bag, kissed her mother goodbye, and headed out. Bela's voice followed her to the door, a mix of worry and love.

"Zyada kaam mat karna. Apni sehat ka dhyaan rakhna.. Aur time pe khana kha lena..."

Naina stepped out of her duplex, her eyes briefly lingering on the polished surface of her car waiting at the curb. It was a deep blue sedan, understated yet elegant—her first significant purchase after establishing herself in the industry. Every curve and detail of the car symbolized her journey, a blend of hard work and quiet pride.

By the driver's side stood Mukesh Uncle, dressed in his usual crisp white shirt and grey trousers. At sixty, his posture still carried a dignity that spoke of a lifetime of perseverance. Mukesh had once been an acquaintance of her father, working at machine factory until age and health made it impossible to continue. When life had given him a cruel hand, Naina had stepped in, offering him this role. For Mukesh, it wasn't just a job—it was a second chance. And for Naina, he had become more than a driver; he was a trusted confidant and a silent guardian in the chaotic city.

"Beta, aaj toh tumhara show hai na, Bohot mehnat ki hai tumne.. Dekhna bohot accha hoga sab," Mukesh said, opening the door for her, his voice a comforting blend of wisdom and affection.

She smiled warmly as she settled into the plush leather seat. "Bas aapke aashirwad ki zarurat hai, Uncle. Sab theek ho se jaye."

As the car glided into Bombay's bustling streets, the city roared to life around her. Naina pulled out her phone and dialed Meera, her dependable assistant.

"Meera, All set?"

"Yes, ma'am. The stage is set, the decorations are done, and the models are rehearsing. Just a few finishing touches left. Don't worry, we're on track," Meera assured her.

"Perfect. Let me know if anything needs my attention," Naina said, ending the call with a sense of calm.

She glanced out of the window, her mind already racing with thoughts of the show. With Mukesh Uncle's steady hand on the wheel and her team managing the details, she allowed herself a moment to breathe. Bombay's rhythm pulsed around her, but Naina Aggarwal was ready to set her own tempo. Today, she would own the spotlight.

Next update on Friday..