Breathe

03. Radha Bose

'Absolutely not,' I say firmly, and Aditya looks crestfallen.

'Why not?' he asks. Sighing, I take a sip of water and look around the office. How do I explain this to him?

'Aditya, you like this girl. You can't be neutral towards her, and by extension this case. Your objectivity is compromised. Besides, this is a professional organization. I can't have its integrity tarnished because you're experiencing puppy dog love.'

'What if I'm experiencing grown-up dog love?'

'It's a no, Aditya.'

'Oh come on! It's 7 pm; we can pop down to her place for a quick interview right now!'

'How do you know where she lives?'

'She gave me her number, and I'm a private detective,' says Aditya sheepishly.

'This is getting creepier by the second.'

'Pretty please? I'll clean the office.'

'You calling my office dirty?'

'You're the best. I've never found anyone as amazing and as, just, supremely fantastic, as you. You know, I've wandered this earth far and wide, but I've never –'

'Not working, Aditya.'

'You're just so beautiful, Radha. I mean, I have wet dreams about you sometimes –'

'If I agree, will you stop being annoying and creepy?'

'I solemnly swear.'

'Argh,' I curse. 'Fine. Let's go.'

'Yes!'

'To be clear, I am simply agreeing to talk to this girl. I still reserve the right to decline her case.'

'Of course.'

Setting the glass of water down on my desk, I get to my feet and take a deep breath.

'I'm going to regret this, aren't I?'

Stuck at a red light, I glance at my watch – it is a little past 8 at night. We have ten minutes yet to reach our destination, an apartment building on Dhapa Road in Tangra, a neighbourhood swarming with factories, tanneries, godowns and the like. There is a faint whiff of moist earth in the air, which is odd, considering that it rarely ever rains in January.

Aditya sits beside me in his usual pose – elbow on the window's rim, chin resting on knuckles, eyes on the horizon, thousand-yard stare. Watching him blow out smoke only makes me itch for a cigarette.

'How's the therapy going?' I ask him.

'It's dandy,' he mutters, not taking his eyes off whatever he is staring at.

'That's it?'

'What do you want me to tell you?'

'You know, you always change when we're in the car.'

'No, I always change whenever I haven't spoken in a while. Whenever I'm allowed to think. Wander the inside of my head.'

'You hate it in there, huh?'

'More than I hate you, which is saying something.'

Chuckling, I reply – 'If you think I don't know about this little defence mechanism of yours, you're dead wrong.'

'What defence mechanism?'

'Changing the subject or insulting whoever's talking to you so that they veer off topic.'