Tewari & Sons, 23, Chandni Chowk

Chapter 10: Take A Sad Song & Make It Better

He waved his hands around, trying to feel his phone, but the damn thing was out of reach and maybe it was his half asleep state, but the phone seemed to be getting progressively louder. He almost knocked over his reading lamp on the side table by his bed before he got his hands on his phone. He sat up on his bed, staring at the phone screen somewhat bleary eyed. The display on the phone was swimming in front of his eyes, but even in that state, he could see that the call was from an unknown number and that it was 2:45 am.

What the, he mumbled, wondering who could possibly calling him at this hour. If it was a wrong number he would be livid.

"Hello."

"Arnav Sir?"

"Yes? Who is this?"

"Arnav Sir. Buri khabar hain."

"I am sorry, but who is this?"

"Sorry sir, I am Raghu Singhal, Samir Sir.. Payal Madam ke father ki secretary."

"Oh. Is there a problem Mr Singhal? Kya hua?"

"Sir aur Payal Madam ka accident ho gaya hai. Serious hai. Agar aap All India Institute pahunch jao toh.. issi waqt. Sir ke phone se aapka number mila."

The next thirty minutes went in a blur, as a flustered Arnav got dressed, picked up his keys and drove out of the house hastily. He chose not to wake up his parents until he knew for sure what was going on. He tried Payal's number a couple of times on his way, but her phone was coming as switched off. He had spoken to Payal earlier in the morning, she was in Meerut for a political rally and was going to be driving back this afternoon. She had sounded rather cheerful then. The campaign trail was almost coming to an end and the newest opinion polls put the INP ahead of all the other parties. Though she would not admit it to him, it was increasingly clear that Payal loved playing the political scion far more than she cared for being a designer, reading critical opinion pieces about her oppositions and topping dubious polls were her new source of joy. Like most politicians Payal and her dad preferred travelling by road as much as possible. His to-be father-in-law was known to be a car enthusiast and imported them from across the world, a hobby that had faced him scathing editorials by Jun Jeeju even as the government and an opposition was on an austerity drive given the poor state of the economy.

The roads were surprisingly busy for the hour, Arnav realised even as he upped his speed and trying to keep worst-case scenarios out of his mind. He had sent texts to Anjali Di and NK about the accident. When he got to AIIMS, he noticed the place was abuzz. The news channels had arrived before anyone else could. He found that he was stopped by the hospital security and only after he called Raghu Singhal, was he allowed in, this time respectfully.

"Damaadji hain," Raghu Singhal told sundry people they met on the way, most of whom were the party workers of INP. In normal circumstances, he would have been amused or annoyed by this blanket label he was given, but now now.

Raghu Singhal he realised, was unable to form one coherent sentence. Why would anyone hire him to form astute opinions about opposition was baffling. He did not seem to have a filter. He described in detail about how the car severed, the angle of it, how quickly did the airbags deploy, who was sitting where, etc. Only after Arnav asked him a pointed question, was he informed that Payal Ma'm had sustained injuries, but they were minor ones. Samir Singh himself had more extensive injuries and the driver was in a critical condition. A relieved Arnav walked into the emergency VVIP ward where Payal was sitting on the bed. Her right palm had been bandaged and there were bruises on her forehead, chin and neck. She looked composed and even annoyed as one of the INP member, whom he recognised but did not know the name of hovered around her.

"Payal, what even happened? So glad you are okay," he had said as he walked towards her. And the until now composed Payal burst into tears. He pulled her towards him into a hug and placed his palm on her head, waiting for her to calm down. Only after his shirt was almost soaked with her tears, did she pull away from him, sniffling as she did so. She was still holding on to his hand and he sat down next to her on the bed, though he was pretty certain some doctor on the rounds would not approve of this. They sat there for a while, not speaking. The INP member was on the phone now and a few other party workers left them alone for a while. He gently freed his hand and walked to the end of the room to get her some water. When he returned, she took his hand again, and there were worry lines on hear forehead.