Eye On You Page 5

  “State your full name, occupation, and where you work. This conversation is being recorded, so speak up and speak clearly.”

  “Hridi Sharma. I work as an admin manager with Soulful Cosmetics. I manage their office. I have been with them for the past 2 years now.”

  “How did you and Meera meet?”

  “Myra. Her name is Myra. Not Meera.” Hridi did an eye roll. Dipti had been corrected again and again but still insisted on pronouncing the name as Meera.

  “Where did you and Meera meet?” Dipti repeated, her bored blank eyes staring back at Hridi, as though saying, Do I look like I care? Hridi let out a sigh and continued.

  “I met Myra at a trek. I’d just moved to Gurgaon from Bangalore. I saw the ad for the trek on FB and joined it. During the trek, Myra and I got to know each other and then on returning to Gurgaon, we met again.”

  “Married?”

  “Huh? Who’s married?” Hridi was confused. Dipti clarified her question.

  “Are you married?”

  “No. I’m not.” Dipti did this often when she questioned people. Suddenly shifted the conversation to a completely unrelated topic and then returned.

  “Okay, continue. So, you met at a trek, hit it off, and became friends. Then what happened?”

  “Then nothing happened. We liked each other’s company and became good friends.”

  “Hmm,” Dipti murmured, as though she was thinking about something.

  “Tell me something Hridi Sharma, admin manager at….whatever. Your friend is rich. Very rich. Stays in a fancy house. Travels abroad all the time. Buys very expensive things. Has a lifestyle that she can easily manage with her earnings. How do you manage it with your salary? Huh…today at Whiskey Samba, then at Olive, then somewhere in Delhi. These are expensive places. How do you manage to keep up with your friend’s rich lifestyle?”

  Hridi scratched the corner of her eye before continuing. “I don’t see how this is relevant to what happened to Myra that night? What difference does it make how much money I have? Maybe I have a rich father who gives me money? Maybe … maybe I make money on the side. I don’t know why you…Inspector Dipti Beniwal…I just don’t know what you are getting out of these inane, stupid questions?” Hridi placed her palms on the table, leaned closer and spoke. Dipti smiled for the first time.

  Hridi was finally losing her guard, the carefully kept guard. She had bitten the bait; exactly what Dipti had anticipated, hoped and wanted.

  “You have quite the temper, hai na? Not as calm as you like people to think. “Tell me what kind of a friend is Meera?” Hridi wanted to correct her again but let it go. “What do you mean what kind? She is a wonderful person. She is very warm, caring, always there for me. She is a very good friend.”

  “Really? You are the first person. None of her friends had nice things to say for her, like you. They said she is obsessed with her body, fitness, and looks. She likes to be the centre of attention all the time. Is very sensual, sexy and hits on any and every man she meets. In fact, some of them have said that Meera will do anything just to get a man to notice her. She loves to show off her money, her car, her expensive stuff.”

  “I don’t believe you, Inspector. No one is an angel here. We all have our flaws but Myra is a very good friend. She has always been a very good friend to me.”

  “Arjun thinks…in fact he calls you her lesbian lover. Some of the others have said that the two of you are always stuck to each other. Always. Are you? Her lesbian lover?”

  “I thought you were going to ask me about the night of the party. What happened? The sequence of events? If I saw someone, heard something. What kind of nonsense is this, Inspector? Of course, we aren’t lesbian. Arjun is a bloody idiot. Myra is often impulsive and I talk sense into her and of course, many of her freeloading friends don’t like it.”

  “And you aren’t one…a freeloading friend?” Dipti leaned back on her chair and allowed a smile to appear on her dark-brown tanned face. Hridi shook her head slowly and then stood up.

  “If you have no further questions, I need to get to the office now. My mobile is constantly buzzing. I didn’t know this conversation is going to take so long. First, you keep me waiting outside for 15 minutes and then you ask questions that make no sense.” Hridi stood up and pulled out her mobile to look at the messages that had been flooding her inbox.

  “Sit down. I’m not finished. You’ll leave when I say you can.” Dipti banged her hands on the table, her voice loud enough to be heard outside. She narrowed her eyes as she glared at Hridi who glared back and then sat down.

  “Before coming to Gurgaon, where did you stay? Where were you working?”

  “I lived in Bangalore with my parents and worked with my father.”

  “Then why the sudden move to Gurgaon? Hmm?” Dipti tapped the pen on the table.

  “I just needed a change of scenario, Inspector. I just needed to live on my own.” Dipti’s eyes narrowed as she heard the reply, not believing a word that Hridi had said. The staring match carried on for a while and then Hridi let out a sigh, looked away and then back at the woman across the table.

  “Okay, it was my marriage. My failed marriage, if you must know.”

  “But you just said you aren’t married.” Dipti sat up and pulled the chair closer.

  “I’m not married anymore. But I was married. He left me, telling me he is gay and wants to be with the man he has been in love with for years.” Hridi looked down at her hands. It had been a while and she had spent months in therapy, hearing that she was not to blame. It wasn’t her fault but something still hurt deep inside. More like a jagged spear that had been pierced deep inside and then pulled out but a tiny piece was left. Lodged in her heart. She cleared her throat and looked up.

  “You can understand why I don’t like to talk about this officer. I was dumped for another man. Married to a man who was in love with another man. Living in Bangalore with my parents and relatives drove me crazy. I needed to be in a place where no one knew me. I don’t know if you can understand this, Inspector… to be constantly judged. To hear everyone tell you, you should have done something to make it work.” Hridi turned away her face, as though not wanting Dipti to see the agony on her face.

  “I understand.” Dipti’s reply came as a surprise to Hridi who was half expecting a nasty cheap comment. But Dipti knew the bane of having to listen to never-ending taunts of the family, their constant complaining and blaming her for everything. She knew and understood it more than Hridi could imagine.

  Silence hung in the room as the two women stayed with their thoughts. Both of them are apparently very different, yet united and similar in their predicament; of being blamed for the flaws in the men in their lives.

  “May I leave now? I’m late for work.”

  “Yes, you can go. Don’t leave Gurgaon without first checking with me and give me a card. Your business card. If I need to buy cosmetics I’ll look up what all your company sells.” Hridi stood still looking at Dipti who stared back. She opened her bag, pulled out a cardholder, yanked out a card from it and placed it on the table.

  “Go for the cooling face masks. It not only cleans the face but cools the skin and sometimes the head too.” Without waiting for a reply or retort, Hridi spun around and walked out as she secured the mask on her face. She could hear Dipti chuckling loudly, almost a guffaw.

  Chapter 8. Myra

  I’m at the door of my flat; after 10 days. Hridi didn’t want me to leave.

  ‘Stay for some more time. What’s the rush?’ she said, but I needed to return to my routine. My reality. How long can I hide and pretend it didn’t happen?

  The row of pots outside the door is clean. Malti has been watering the plants, cleaning the leaves and the pots; alternating between cooking meals for Hridi and me at the former’s flat and keeping my home clean, it’s been a busy week for her. Hridi also took leave from work to be with me; mothering and pampering me yet giving me the space to recoup.

  I have all
the support one needs but still, every second breath I take feels like a sigh. I fall into the dark pit of my thoughts, then claw my way out.

  I touch the brick inlay cladding on the walls surrounding the door. Miniature plants in tiny planters of varying shapes and sizes are placed inside the nooks. A jade, a money plant cutting in cute cups. Another in a painted watering kettle. Little things I’ve scoured from flea markets around the world. A cowbell, the mandatory thing one buys in Switzerland. A long chain of multiple Turkish evil eyes hangs next to the cowbell. Clearly, these things don’t really ward off evil.

  I press the keys on the app on my phone. I have a smart door; it locks and opens via my mobile. Malti enters with a finger ID. Archie is whimpering next to me, eager to go in. I’m entering my flat for the first time since that Sunday morning when the cops had come home. The AQI is slightly lower today, the haze of smog less and the November sun looks welcoming. It floods the living area just the way it did on the day when I entered the flat for the first time with the real estate agent. Two years ago.

  It was love at first sight. I had just joined Pronto as the Sales Director. A month into my new job, I decided to go in for a larger flat even though I didn’t need it. When I entered this 16th floor 3 bhk flat; I just knew. I wanted to stay in it; though I could hear Mom say, “What are you going to do with 3 bedrooms? It’s just not practical.” Why do all decisions have to be practical in life; I’d thought to myself as if answering her question.

  “I’ve earned it. A great job with a fat, juicy pay packet, I deserve a bigger, nicer place.” I told myself. Sometimes you walk into a situation and you know it’s going to be right for you. Like the Pronto job. Barely 10 minutes into the interview I knew I was getting the job. I ticked all the right boxes, I was saying the right things and I could see the YES! vibe from across the table. It was the same with the flat. It was a bright sunny January morning; sunlight flooded in through the large glass sliding door, the balcony looked out to the glittering cityscape of One Horizon and the buildings. Winter sun warmed the large balcony and all the bedrooms, which was a huge plus as Gurgaon winters are rather harsh. I could see myself in the flat, in the balcony, chilling with a glass of wine after a long day at work. I could see my pots of herbs, cherry tomatoes and the right place for the cucumber vine to creep up. The flat called out to me. I took it on rent and then decided to buy the flat. It was Hridi’s idea; she’s the one who suggested I buy the flat.

  “My, the flat is perfect. Just perfect and you love it. Why don’t you talk to the owner?” We were celebrating the performance award I’d won. An award that came with a considerable cash component and some stock options that would fructify in few years.

  I looked at my best friend, sitting with her back against the wall, her thick curls almost a cushion for her head, her legs stretched out on the stool, sipping the red wine she’d bought for me. It had been about a year and few months since we’d met at the trek but it felt as though we knew each other for years. We completed each other’s sentences. We liked and disliked the same things; she feels like a sister from another mother. I’d scolded her for splurging on the wine. It was an expensive bottle and Hri didn’t earn as much. She’d shushed me up, saying, “Today is a special day, My. I know how hard you’ve worked for this award.”

  “What are you thinking? Surely, you’ve thought about buying the flat. You can afford it, My. I would buy the flat if I could afford it.” That had got me thinking and yes, I could afford it. A bank loan would be easy given my credit history, job, and current CTC. Quick calculations and meetings with the bank told me that it would be a bit of a stretch with the monthly EMI but a big chunk of money was headed my way soon. It was the right thing to do. I didn’t see myself moving away from Gurgaon and Pronto anytime soon. Though I didn’t feel any deep love for Gurgaon, it’s comfortable. All the watering holes are nearby. My gym, my friends; everything is 5-10 minutes drive away. Lots of places around to go for treks and the Himalayas aren’t too far, and I can practically see my office building from the window. The owner had been only too happy to sell. He was moving to Canada and didn’t want to be bothered with handling a flat in Gurgaon.

  Today, 10 days after the night of the party, as I stand in the centre of the living room, look at the entertainment den with the huge TV on one wall, the glittering stone and glass bar on one side; a feeling of dread washes over me. I want to be anywhere but here.

  Scenes from the party rush back. Food, wine, music, people everywhere. Everyone gushing over how pretty the place looked. What a stunning home I had! Fairy lights hung on the temple flower tree in the balcony. Candles in coloured glass holders sat coy in different nooks lending the soft cozy look. Flowers, bottles of expensive wine, gifts packed in handmade paper piled high on the bed in the guest room. Everyone was laughing, some sang, while others swayed. It was a great evening, perfect in every which way.

  Somewhere in the crowd of my friends was the person who didn’t just come bearing a gift; came with an agenda. A plan to hurt and humiliate me.

  I scold myself to stop. “Malti! I need to get ready for work. Get all my stuff to the guest room.” I have to get a grip on myself but I’m not ready yet. I head towards the guest room. I’m not ready to step into ‘that’ room. My bedroom.

  ‘Just get ready for office quickly and leave.’ I tell myself. I want to be out and away from the house and the memories it holds.

  As I walk from the elevator to my parked car, a group of 4-5 people are standing by an SUV chatting. I know them all, though not their names. Just by face. I can hear them having an animated conversation about something. One of them sees me and says something. Conversation stops and all eyes turn towards me. I pass them by, without looking at them. They know about it. Everyone knows about it. They’ve read the newspaper article.

  WOMAN RAPED IN HER BEDROOM AFTER A HOUSE PARTY.

  Though I’ve not been named as is the rule with rape stories but enough information has been given for people to identify me. Casa Sara Towers, off Golf Course Road. Woman in her early 30s, single, a senior person in a leading food delivery company. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that it’s me.

  As I drive into the second level basement parking of One Horizon, I find myself breathing hard and deep. I am palpitating. Being there is making my heartbeat rise. I feel like driving back home. But home doesn’t feel safe anymore either. Someone drugged my drink at home and then raped me. A stranger knows where I keep my bed linen. I’m not safe in my home, in my bedroom. What if he’s waiting for me here in this basement? I grip the steering wheel hard.

  “Come on Myra, you aren’t going to let this get to you,” I tell myself as I try to steady my breath. I’ve been trekking and travelling alone since 16. I’d backpacked in Europe after my class 12 exams. I’d spent 4 months in South America after graduation, travelling all by myself. I’m not the kind to scare easily. And now in the semi-dark basement parking, I’m breaking into a cold sweat, my eyes darting to the dark shadows, wondering if someone is standing behind the pillar. What the fuck is wrong with me? I take a couple of deep breaths, close my eyes and count to ten. I count to ten again and then get out of the car. My fingers feel clammy as I press on the lock button, my feet shuffle faster than usual, and my eyes search for the glowing entry sign.

  Few more steps. Come on hurry up, Myra. Just a few more steps and then you’ll be inside the building. Why isn’t the basement better lit? There are shadows all around. It has never bothered me before but today the shadows look strange and ominous to me.

  Is there someone behind that pillar? I walk faster. I pass a car and I’m near the door when I suddenly feel a hand on my shoulder.

  I scream. Scream out loud, so loud that my throat hurt.

  Chapter 9. Myra

  SECURITY! SECURITY…! I’m screaming with my eyes shut.

  “Myra! Myra…stop. What are you doing? It’s me, Myra. It’s me… Deep. Open your eyes. It’s me!”

  I stop scream
ing and open my eyes. I can’t breathe. My throat hurts from the yelling.

  “Deep! Why did you jump on me?” I can feel tears stabbing my eyes. The last thing I want to do is to have a meltdown with him. I don’t want to cry in front of him but I’m fighting a losing battle. Tears stream out and my body is shaking. I’m convulsing.

  “Myra babe, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped on you like that. My bad.”

  He’s taken few steps away from me and is holding his hands up in surrender.

  “Why don’t you wipe your eyes?” he hands me a hanky. It’s clean and ironed. I never took him for a guy who carried a hanky, leave alone it being well-ironed. “Take a minute, Myra. Do you need some water?” he’s pulling out a steel bottle from his backpack. I take it and gulp down, not realizing I’d put my mouth to the rim. My lipstick leaves a mark on the bottle.

  “I’m sorry, Deep…I…”

  “It’s okay. It’s not like we haven’t …. you know… ” He winks and makes a disgusting gesture with his mouth, licking his lips and flicking his tongue like a lizard. I feel nauseated and turn my face away.

  “Do me a favour and shut the fuck up.” I push my bag over my shoulder and walk towards the entry door. I can hear him follow me.

  “Listen,” he touches my elbow as we wait for the elevator. Why aren’t there more people around? There’s always a small crowd at the elevator this time. I don’t want to be alone with him.

  “The cops were asking about our little history together, Myra. That’s in the past. You know that, right? Yes, I screamed at and threatened you before leaving the office but that’s ancient history. I came to your house with your favourite flowers and wine that you love because I want to start afresh. I hope you don’t think I’m the one…?”

  “How did you get through the main gate, Deep?” I don’t want to have a conversation with him but he doesn’t look like he’s going to walk away and the elevator isn’t here yet.