CHANDNI
Every once in a while,
when books transported me into unknown worlds, I gathered impossible dreams
from them and weaved my own little fairy tales. Through them, I opened magical
portals that led me into lands where life was a long, thrilling adventure. But
in reality, my life was filled with nonstop misadventures that never seemed to
end.
What was currently
happening promised to be the perfect recipe for a disaster. I shouldn’t have
agreed to this. But was there even another option?
I winced as one of the
hired beauticians worked on my untouched eyebrows. I had never felt the need to
trim them. Two others were waxing my legs and arms, respectively.
“Hurry up! We don’t
have all the time in the world. The party begins at eight.” Neeru Aunty snapped
at the beauticians.
It was only six now.
What was the hurry?
Once she completed
shaping my eyebrows, the beautician set out to work on my hair, trimming them
into layers and styling them. My hair felt soft like silk, courtesy of the
multiple hair treatments I had sat through. I might have loved this experience
if the very thought of what awaited me in the next few hours didn’t make my
knees go weak.
Whenever someone
entered the room we were in, through the open door, I glimpsed servants hurrying
past carrying flowers, fruit bowls and vessels, getting things ready for the
party. Parties at Malhotra Mansion were not new to me. Never had I been a part
of such celebrations, nor had I wished to be a part of them.
Ever since I
remembered, Malhotra Mansion, situated in the city of dreams Mumbai, has been
my home. When Grandmother was alive, the cosy little bedroom on the second
floor had belonged to us. The day after she died, I had been asked to shift to
a small bedroom in the annexe attic. My old bedroom had been converted to one
of the four guest bedrooms in the mansion. That was three years ago.
According to Grandma, if God hadn’t been so
cruel, my life would have been different. I would have inherited the Malhotra
Group—or the Venus Group as it had been once called. When my father had founded
it twenty years ago, it had been a small-scale textile industry. Within ten
years, he had turned it into a public limited company with profits increasing
manifold every year. But tragedy struck in the twelfth year of its existence.
Ratan Malhotra, the son of Grandma’s sister,
had become the major shareholder of the Venus Group after the untimely death of
my father. He renamed it overnight to give it a face-lift after the scandalous
death of its founder.
Apparently, plagued by
losses, father had taken the shortcut to escape from his troubles. I only have
vague memories of that fateful day at the resort in Bali. But sometimes, I
still woke up in the middle of the night, choked by tears and guilt weighing like
lead inside my chest. Survivor’s guilt. I should have died along with my
parents. Hadn’t they planned just that?
“I owe a lot to Ram bhaiyya.
You will continue to stay with us. I will take care of you from now on.” That
was what Ratan Uncle had told me on the day Grandma passed away.
Of course, he took
care of me. I was packed off to the annexe the same day. From then on, the
Malhotras, who were renowned Scrooges, forced me to earn my keep. Once I
returned from college, I became their all-round help. I had to step in for
whatever was the pressing job at the time. These days, I was a part-time
gardener one day; on another day, I was doing chores in the kitchen and on yet
another, I would be housekeeping. I ate food with the other staff and hardly
found time to study.
When Grandma was
alive, after she fought yet another time with Neeru Aunty, she would curse me
and blame me for my parents’ death.
“You are an unlucky girl, Chandni. Else, why
would my son kill himself? Ever since you were born, his business started to
fail. You shouldn’t have wandered out that day; you should have died with
them.”
The very next minute
she would apologise and cry.
“Devil take my tongue.
That wretched Neeru gets on my nerves every single time. If my Ram had been
alive, he would have raised you like a princess,” she would say as she wiped
her own and my tears.
I had grown up wearing
hand-me-down clothes of Lavanya, the only daughter of the Malhotras, and
cherished playing with her discarded toys. We were good friends in childhood
and had remained so until money induced disparities started corrupting the bond
we shared. The glue that bonded us was Grandma. But the bond started to weaken
due to the quarrels between Neeru Aunty and Grandma.
Grandma’s fights with
Neeru Aunty were always on the same topic. According to Grandma, the Malhotras
were living off the efforts of her son. In retaliation for this accusation,
Neeru Aunty treated Grandma like trash. She never missed a chance to humiliate
her in front of her guests, after insisting on Grandma’s presence at her kitty
parties. Neeru Aunty loved boasting about how she and her husband were taking
care of Ram Khanna’s old mother and daughter. After each fight, their hostility
increased. I often begged Grandma to not attend them. Grandma, however, found
peace if she could hurl a few insults back at Neeru Aunty whenever she got an
opportunity. She loved keeping scores.
Caught in between, I
found solace in my books and studies.
“You got your father’s
brains, child! Didn’t he singlehandedly build the Malhotra empire? You make me
proud.” Grandma had hugged me tight when I got the 9th rank in the 12th board
exams. My rank had helped me land a seat
in my dream college in Mumbai. That too with a scholarship provided by a
charity foundation that had tied up with the school I attended.
Neeru Aunty hated that
I had gained admission into the same college as her daughter. Grandma had passed
away during my final semester in college leaving me completely at the mercy of
the Malhotras.
Luckily, Ratan Uncle
had stepped in when I graduated with a high rank and granted me one of the
educational scholarships given by the Malhotra Group for talented students. The
scholarship helped me enrol for an MBA course in the same college. But after
class, Neeru Aunty made sure I helped in the kitchen, ran errands and cleaned
bathrooms and toilets while Lavanya, who was my classmate, roamed around the
town partying. By the time the day ended, I would have energy only to crash
into bed.
Somehow, I managed to
do all the college work early in the morning and studied during lunch hours. My
friends, Vani and Shweta, who knew my predicament helped me with assignments
and exams whenever possible.
College would have
been fun if Lavanya wasn’t a bitch of the highest order. Taking a cue from her
mother, now a days, she didn’t lose a chance to insult me in front of our
classmates. She would hurl snide comments at me randomly and she would often
make me carry her things. If somebody questioned her, she would say, “Oh she is
used to that. After all, she is our servant.”
It didn’t help that
the Malhotras, who used to be filthy rich, were now going through a very bleak
period financially. But they always tried to prove to the outside world that
all was well. Neeru Aunty had by now relinquished all hopes that her ageing
husband would revive their slowly dying business. She had pinned all her hope
on Lavanya.
“She has to marry into
a rich household. That’s the only way.” That had become her mantra nowadays.
Lavanya was beautiful
and would certainly snag a rich man as a husband. She had the looks and with a
mother like hers, who paraded her like some hallowed jewel, she was not far
from landing herself a priced groom. But it was an almost open secret that she
was a drug addict. Last night, she had gone out with her friends and had to be
hospitalized after a drug overdose.
The media had got
scent of the news and had hounded the Malhotras for an update.
“What rubbish! Lavanya
is fine. I don’t know where you guys get your info from. She will be the
hostess for her birthday party happening at home tonight. We will be sending
pictures to the media and posting them on our social media handles as well.”
Ratan Uncle had declared to the media right from the courtyard of the Malhotra
Mansion today morning as I was leaving for college.
When I arrived at the
mansion after college, Neeru Aunty had simply told me what had to be done.
“You will take
Lavanya’s place at today’s party. She will be at the recovery centre this whole
week. Be ready to pay back all the kindness we have showered on you.”
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