Dil Beparwah | ✔

twenty six

||CHAPTER 26||
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┊V A R U N┊

Amidst the brightest of lights and most reputable men who apparently constituted the Board of the Deewan Group of Companies, there was one man who knew he had everyone's eyes on him and it wasn't just because of the hideous mustache he sported. The sonorous tinkering of a spoon against his champagne glass attracted a general sense of rapt attention and Samyak Deewan, standing under the chandelier, began, "Ladies and Gentlemen, may I start by thanking you for taking time out of your busy week and gracing us with your presence tonight."

A number of people raised their glasses in acknowledgement, including Rhidhima Bagchi. "Deewans are known for their generous donations," the woman commented, tilting her head towards the host. "But for the past six months, Samyak and Gayatri have shown a keen interest in our organization."

Her organization that worked towards the upliftment of the downtrodden had been a work-in-progress project for BizNest. It wasn't an independent business, which is why the workflow which she claimed was of genuine intent, was a matter of genuine curiosity for me. So when the opportunity presented itself to analyze the Indian high society's standards of charity, I could hardly decline. It was just a mere coincidence that it happened to be the same one Arvika had invited me to hours before Rhidhima did. Which again, was strange noting that she was nowhere to be seen.

"You sound like you're doubtful about their intention," I observed. Over the course of the evening, she had introduced me to a number of socialite housewives whose husbands headed corporate giants. Charity was just a fancy name for them to continue living lavishly and hoaxing taxes unnecessarily.

But for Rhidhima, that wasn't the troublesome part. "It's their motive—or rather lack of one—that bugs me," she admitted, rolling the stem of her glass. "They'll attend an event, ponder over a speech for a day, speak about social injustices and childhood being taken away, sign checks and call themselves humble. They don't have a guilty conscience. Unka concern bus upari tire me basta hai."

Now that was hard for me to consume—considering Mrs. Bagchi had been a SoBo socialite with haughty values herself. Until less than a decade ago, organizing or attending satsangs in the mornings and lavish parties when the sun went down was all that comprised her daily life—she'd said so herself. Ditching her business degree didn't seem like a big havoc until that one fanatic night that changed her. And such epiphanies is what she planned on recollecting in the book she was going to write under the wing of our imprint. "So they have a hidden agenda and the organization gets loaded with money. That's the secret part of the business plan?"

Rhidhima curled her lips mockingly, "Consider your research complete, Mr. Malhotra." That's the thing I liked about Rhidhima Bagchi from the moment she had pitched her book idea to us—she unabashedly accepted and secretly criticized the hypocrisy she was a part of.

Samyak Deewan's speech lauded him with loud rounds of cheers, and it was between the friendly hoots and applause, our attention zapped towards the late entrant. "There she is, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight's for the esteemed project we have been working on, to Project DEEV, and my sweet little cousin learning the ropes, Arvika!"

The malice would have been indistinguishable, had my gaze not been transfixed upon her disposition. A contemptuous smile mirroring his, a small purse tucked underneath her arm—not the pink/brown bag she usually carried around. Light from the chandelier bounced off her bare shoulder as she plucked off a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, eyes challenging the man at the center of the room to say more, sipping to honor his dedication.

"What about her," I found myself asking. "Has she not expressed any interest in your work before?"

"Arvika?" Rhidima's brows knitted jocularly. "Sure, if she's not too wound up between two sets of parents and a runaway twin."