Eye On You Page 2

  Archie had begun barking his head off the moment Myra stepped out of the elevator on the 16th floor. He had been upset since the previous evening when Myra put on his leash and walked him to ‘doggie uncle’s’ home - a dog-loving neighbour in the condo who did pet sitting for a charge. She often used his services when she entertained large groups. Archie didn’t do well with too many people at home. He barked constantly and his loud bark terrified most people. Doggie uncle had earned the moniker well. He knew his way with canines, even those with issues like Archie.

  ‘Mummy’s having a party tonight. You’ll stay with doggie uncle, okay Archie? Don’t look upset and be nice.’ Myra bribed him with treats and cuddles but he didn’t like being away from her. Ever since he had been left chained to the light pole outside Vyapaar Kendra and Myra had rescued him, taken him in; he wrestled with abandonment issues. Myra had been working to rid him off the fear and he had made good progress. It hadn’t been easy but Archie was in a much better place now than before.

  In the morning, he couldn’t fathom why Myra kept sitting in one chair in her bedroom, ignoring his play requests and then she left with Hridi. Now that she was back; Malti enticed him into the kitchen with a bone and shut the door. He could smell Myra’s arrival, and protested loudly and continuously. He wanted to be let out.

  Dipti and the others looked like they would prefer to disappear into the wall, get back into the elevator and leave when they heard the sharp barking. The loud angry roar with the decided growl made it clear it was no tiny ball of fur. They were right. Archie was anything but tiny; a full-grown Rottweiler. His bark was worse than his bite and though he never bit. others didn’t know that. The bark was enough to send them scurrying away.

  Hridi would have liked to let him out, unleash his nervous fury on Dipti and her team who had been anything but sensitive or civil in their callous and indifferent questioning all morning. She had flinched, balled her fist and bitten her jaw with every question Dipti had asked and it didn’t help that she couldn’t be bothered to pronounce Myra’s name correct.

  Dipti kept addressing Myra as Meera and despite many corrections, she persisted.

  “Meera, are you sure the dog isn’t going to come out? He sounds very angry.” Dipti stood near the elevator, with her hand stopping the doors from closing. She was ready to dart inside should the barking animal come charging.

  “My name is Myra, officer,” Myra said, again. She’d lost count of the number of times she had corrected. “He is locked inside the kitchen. Don’t worry.” She pressed the keys on her mobile to open the front door.

  After being convinced that the growling animal was indeed locked in and secure, Dipti entered the flat and stood on the silk carpet with her dusty boots, her fingers tucked into the waistband of her trouser that had folded and disappeared into the layers of fat around her waist. The khaki pullover hung limply over her expanding girth. She looked around. Her eyes didn’t miss anything. The rich silk curtains, sofas that one could sink into; the chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the crystal danglers tinkling as wind teased them gently and then finally her eyes rested on the large dazzling bar, a very well-stocked one.

  “Hmm, so Meera has a huge bar, huh?” Dipti moved her head in the direction of the bar while she walked all over the silk carpet, leaving dust stains on it. Hridi and Myra exchanged looks as the former gritted her teeth and once again reminded herself to stay calm, probably for the 20th time since morning when the two of them had walked into the police station.

  “Of course, you had alcohol in the party. Your blood report will tell us just how much you drank.” Dipti’s statement sounded more like a question.

  “Yes Inspector, there was alcohol at the party.” Hridi moved in closer as Myra bent her head, massaging her temple slowly.

  “Anything else?”

  Hridi fully understood what Dipti was hinting at but deigned to rise to the bait. From the corner of her eye, she could see Myra hadn’t raised her head.

  “What do you mean anything else? There was food.”

  “Tum na, zyada smart mat bano. Okay? And who are you…huh? Why are you even here? Do you live with her?” Dipti walked over to Hridi, shaking her baton inches away from her face.

  Hridi didn’t flinch even for a second, stared right back at Dipti and answered in a barely audible voice. “Please don’t misbehave with us, Inspector. There was nothing illegal or wrong at the party. We were just some friends who got together for fun and someone…one of our friends hurt my friend. Please don’t waste your time asking inane questions. And please understand we aren’t helpless, okay? Don’t do something that will make me tweet about the way you and your team are behaving with us.” There…she had said it. She had been controlling the urge to spit it out. Both of them locked in a staring contest but it had the desired effect, and Dipti backed away and continued looking around the room.

  “That’s a CCTV camera, isn’t it? You have an app-controlled front door. A CCTV in the house. Smart home, huh? Why do you have a CCTV at home? You don’t have kids. People usually have that to keep an eye on the bachchas. Or, do you not trust your live-in maid and want to know if she eats your cashews while you are away?” Dipti snorted and walked around the living room. She then sat on one of the sofas and bounced herself up and down.

  “I got that installed when I got Archie, my dog.” Myra ignored Dipti’s comment and replied. “I travel a lot, often keep late hours at work and like to see him. So, I got the CCTV.”

  “Then, whatever happened must be in the CCTV recording,” Dipti said with unconcealed glee. Maybe the Sunday wouldn’t be totally wasted; she could go to the station soon and enjoy her time drinking more chai and then bask in the sun outside if the smog dissipated. Her excitement was short-lived. Myra and Hridi looked at each other.

  “I usually switch it off when my friends are over, during a party. Only when I’m out of the house the CCTV is switched on.” Myra replied. It was the truth but not the complete truth. All her friends, at least the ones who knew about the CCTV specifically insisted that it be turned off. The parties did get very drunken, often certain not so legal stuff was rolled and smoked, not to mention some of her friends who indulged in dirty dancing followed by making out in dark corners. They didn’t want any of it recorded.

  Dipti wasn’t happy with this information and was even more irritated with the realization that she wasn’t going to be able to leave early as she’d hoped.

  “Meera, you have CCTV but you switch it off when you have a party. You have a live-in help but she gets the night off when you have a party. What happens in your party that you don’t want her around, huh? Where I come from, we would like our servants to be around to help.”

  Myra kept silent. Yes, she often let Malti take the evening off. Even when she entertained, she liked the privacy. Things happened; people got cozy, couples slunk off into the bedrooms, the balconies and the bathroom to make out. The presence of a live-in maid would be awkward and inconvenient.

  “Let’s go to the bedroom and see. Meera, you said at the police station that you couldn’t find the bra. You submitted the top, skirt and your panty but not the bra. Are you sure you were wearing one?”

  Myra touched Hridi’s arm and held her back. The latter looked like she was going to explode.

  “Yes, officer. I’m sure I was wearing a bra last evening. It’s not something one can be vague or unsure about. I’m sure you and the women with you…all of you are wearing a bra and don’t need to check to confirm.” She spoke out loud, holding back the tears and anger that was bubbling inside.

  Myra walked into her bedroom; Hridi and Dipti followed. The room had been turned upside down by Rajesh aided by the two women constables.

  “Have you found the bra?” Dipti asked one of the women, who shook her head.

  “Anything on the bed? The sheets, the mattress?” Dipti asked Rajdeep who had dusted every inch of the room for prints. He shook his head.

  “I have collected hair sampl
es and fingerprints from the furniture. The hair is curly so most likely it’s hers. We will match the fingerprints with that of everyone at the party. There’s nothing on the bed. No fluid. Nothing. But there’s something odd.”

  “What is it? Speak up.”

  “The pillowcase and the bedsheet don’t match.” Recently married, Rajesh had received quite an earful from his wife when he had taken out mismatched sheets and pillowcases.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Dipti was clueless about the necessity of matching pillowcases and bedsheet, something her mother-in-law had once commented on, and she had deliberately ignored and then forgotten. Why did one even need a pillowcase? Who cared about such things as long as one had a pillow?

  Myra spoke up. “Oh yes, this is strange.” She looked at the mismatched sheet and the pillowcase. Also, the bedsheet wasn’t properly tucked as always. Malti was anal about making hotel bed corners. She even had a wooden spatula to tuck in the bedsheet neatly.

  “Malti would never lay out mismatched sheet and pillow,” Myra added.

  “Can someone explain what is it about the bedsheet and pillowcases?” Dipti asked, her irritation growing by the minute.

  Rajesh leaned in and whispered. “Madam, the pillowcases and bedsheet come in a pack and they are of the same fabric and print. Here, it is different. As if someone had changed the bedsheet.”

  “Are you saying someone changed the sheets? These weren’t the ones you slept on?”

  “I don’t remember what I slept on but Malti would never take out a mismatched set.”

  “Call this Malti.” Dipti let out a breath as her head began to throb. Malti entered the room looking nervous and rattled.

  Dipti cut to the chase, “Is this the sheet you had spread out?”

  Malti gulped her saliva and looked from Myra to Hridi and then at Dipti.

  “Malti, don’t feel scared.” Myra stepped in, feeling sorry that she had to be dragged into the mess. “Did you spread out this bedsheet and the pillowcases?” she pointed towards the bed.

  “No, no. I always put out matching sets. This sheet isn’t the one I laid out. The one I had put out is in the washing machine.”

  “What?” a collective yell escaped every mouth in the room. Dipti, Hridi, Myra, and the others.

  “What do you mean in the washing machine? Who asked you to wash it?” Myra spoke up before anyone else.

  “No one. When I came into the house in the morning, I found the washing machine on with the sheet inside. I thought you must have done it.”

  “Show me where the washing machine is. I need to dust it for prints.” Rajesh walked out of the room with her.

  Dipti shook her head slowly as she spoke.

  “Meera madam, bahut ghanaa bawaal hai idhar. Not only did one of your friends rape you but whoever did this, threw the bed sheet in the washing machine to wash away stains which could lead us to him. He knows where you keep bedsheets. He took a fresh one out and spread it out while you lay drunk and drugged.”

  Myra leaned against the wall, her legs buckled as though all the bones had melted; Hridi rushed to her side, grabbed her before she could hit the floor.

  Chapter 3. Myra

  My sleep is disturbed, fraught with images as I wrestle with the scattered pieces of the puzzle. In my sleep, I go back to the night of the party. Gautam is playing the music. He’s the resident DJ in our group. Music is loud. Everyone is screaming to be heard. Some are shouting out the lyrics, singing along and dancing. Everyone is high and happy. So am I.

  Ana, Anahita suggests we dim the lights. They are very bright. “Let’s get cozy, shall we? GT!” she yells out. That’s Gautam’s nickname. “GT, give us a slow and sensuous number, please.” She says in her sing-song voice and then someone dims the lights.

  Ana came in late as always. Very late. As the budding social media influencer, she has a packed social calendar. She sashays in wearing a figure-hugging tiny shimmering icy blue dress that looks like it will need to be ripped and cut for her to get out of it. She looks good in it; every male eye turns in her direction. Every female eye too.

  Hridi is swaying in her yellow dress. She’s dancing with someone whose face I can’t see. She’s in a close hug with a man. Her dress is fitted and short, accentuating her curves. She looks good in it. The man drops his hand on the curve of her hip. She raises the hand back to her waist and holds it there. I can’t see his face but I spot Gautam. He is dancing with someone, not one of the two women he is in a relationship with. Gautam is polyamorous. He seldom comes for a party with either of them and he doesn’t like it if we suggest how would it be if his women brought in other men in the equation.

  I’m going from one person to another. Someone says to me, beautiful house Myra. I smile and move on. The cheese platter is empty; as is the hummus. I turn around to look for the servers. I’d given Malti the night off and got in a professional caterer. They had sent 2 servers. I see one of them and signal with my hand and eye. He gets it and moves towards the empty food plate. My head feels light. I’ve had a lot of alcohol. Lots of crazy tequila shots. It’s churning in me. Someone touches my shoulder and before I can turn back and see who it is, a whisper tells me that there are no toilet rolls in the bathroom. That’s strange because I remember putting a new one. I can feel his hand on my waist.

  ‘Let me help you.’ the whisper is soft and throaty. I’m walking and swaying to the music. GT is really good with it. I take another swig. A hand snakes around me, brushing against my breast and touches the glass bottom.

  “Bottoms up, girl.” I turn my head to look at his face but the room is almost dark, the lights have been dimmed and he is gently pushing the glass into my mouth and somehow it seems more enticing to drink up than see his face.

  I’m almost at the door of my room. The hand is still on my waist, though it has ridden up and is touching the side of my breast. The thumb is making crazy circles on my shoulder blade as the rest of the palm rests on the side of my breast. It feels good. I walk into my bedroom. It’s dark. The door snaps shut behind me. I turn around…rather try to turn around. I try to say something but the words are lost in my mouth. His lips are on me, tongue pushing my lips apart, lips that I part eagerly. I pull him closer.

  I feel lips on my neck. The back of my neck. The fingers are now slowly cupping my breasts and then they press and move over my nipples; circling and pressing them. It feels good. I’m enjoying the feeling. My head is doing a slow swirl; that feels good too.

  “But, I need to change the toilet paper…” I start to say. The fingers have now slipped under my top. I can feel something. There’s something on the finger. It’s rough on my skin, almost coarse and hard.

  “I need to go,” I remember saying that. “I need to go.”

  “No, you don’t. You want this.” The voice is soft, so soft that it’s almost inaudible. “You’ve been asking me to do this for a while. You want this. You know you do.”

  I wake up drenched in my sweat, as though I have been under a shower. My hair sticks to my forehead, it feels warm, almost hot. Burning, as though I have a fever. My tongue feels as though it had retreated to the back of my throat, my very dry, almost parched throat. I can’t breathe…. I look around. The room looks different. It’s not mine. Where am I? I clutch the bedsheet, my fingers curl on it. I shut my eyes, take a deep breath and open them again. I look around. I see a photo frame. It’s Hridi and me. I’m safe. This is Hridi’s place. I’ve slept on this bed many times. I reach for the bottle of water and without bothering with the glass, put my lips on the glass rim and quench my dry throat.

  I wonder what time it is? I’ve lost track and Hridi has blackout curtains, so the room is dark. I’m sweating and shivering at the same time. My thin tee sticks to me and my toes curl instinctively while I step on the cold floor. I walk to the window and pull apart the curtains. The morning sun is hidden behind the shroud of thick smog that sits heavy on the city; sunlight too weak to breakthrough. Through the window,
it looks misty, foggy, and charming; it could well be a cold foggy day in the hills. But it’s not. It’s the heavily polluted smog that envelopes and chokes Gurgaon every winter. I bend my head on the cold windowpane as my breath forms circles.

  “Were you able to sleep?” Hridi’s palm rests on my shoulder gently after she places one cup of black coffee on the window sill for me.

  “Ya. Kind of.” I lie. She sips from her cup and both of us stand next to each other silent, still, and stare into the smoggy outdoors where visibility is almost nil. The AQI must be high. The air purifier is making a low, rolling sound. We don’t talk. Sometimes silence is comforting. To be with someone who understands your silence better than words; who knows when not to speak a word and yet be right there. I’m lucky to have Hridi.

  It’s not always vintage that establishes a solid friendship. I’m no longer in touch with my school friends; barely one or two from my college are still in my life. Life takes us on a different trajectory and often one doesn’t relate to or have anything in common with those we shared our tiffin boxes with or bunked lectures and slipped off for the matinee. People grow up and change. I don’t think change is bad. Most of my friends today are people I met at B-school, in jobs, at the gym or solo holidays that I’ve taken.

  I’d met Hridi at a 15-day trek 2 years ago. Two single women in a group of couples put in a tent together, we hit off well. Both of us like the outdoors, hiking, trekking, nature, books, movies, and men. Hridi used to be married but wasn’t anymore. She said she didn’t want kids and sounded thankful about it. I was happy to hear that as I don’t have the mental bandwidth to deal with the mommy types.

  “This is my first trek. Yes, my first. Till recently I’d never travelled alone. But in the past year and a half, I’ve done a lot of things for the first time and it’s been a great ride so far.” Her dense curls were tied in a small ponytail and a colourful band kept her hair from tumbling on her face. It was also the curls that brought us together. Girls with curls stick together. Always.