The Love Asana

‘Er … no … Though I did send someone to get her details.’ Dev pulled out a simple two-colour flyer from his briefcase, handing it to Vivan as he left the room.

‘Pari’s Purist Yoga’ the flyer said simply, with a picture of a slim woman in a classic yoga pose, one leg extended back horizontally, arms stretched forward like a graceful bird ready to take flight. Vivan’s eyes rested on the curve of her neck, its sensuous line accentuated by the slender shoulders in the sleeveless tee. The tilt of her head was feminine yet something in it suggested fierce independence.

Instinct told Vivan there was more to this recommendation. Why was Deepak championing a small-time yoga instructor when the Fitness Fanatics account wasn’t even in his bag yet? There had to be a personal connection. Men like Deepak Dewan were predators. Users. So either this Pari was Deepak’s latest squeeze or, Vivan allowed himself to hope at the very possibility of it, at long last a missing link had just fallen into place. The investigator’s report a year ago had outlined a family of father and younger sister that Deepak had cut off ties with after coming to Delhi. The father still lived in Chandigarh and Vivan knew there had been no contact between the father and son, but, concerning the sister, the investigation had gone cold. One way or another Vivan was glad he had bided his time before making himself known to Deepak. This was going to be worth it. He could feel it deep in his bones.

A year ago, Pari would never have thought she could be at peace with her life. For as long as she could remember, she had lived with a sense of fear. That any moment now something bad would happen and change it all again. Her mother dying when she was born—she could still maybe have come to terms with, difficult as it was. But then her father never let her forget it; constantly managing to make Pari feel responsible. When her father married again, Pari allowed herself to hope that somehow things would get better … that her father would stop being so nasty and mean, not just to her, but to all of them.

It hadn’t happened. Instead, her stepmother had become increasingly silent, afraid of doing anything that could bring on another vitriolic outburst from the man it was impossible for any of them to please, and finally just ran away. Then it was like the old times at home. Only many times worse.

The one thing that had brought it all to a head then was the one thing that was now helping her rebuild her life. Her yoga. Pari’s stepmother had introduced her to it. Their time practising yoga together had bonded them both, a refuge against the tirades of the day. When her stepmother left, the yoga became Pari’s lifeline. And the biggest source of annoyance to her father.

But that was long ago. Pari forced herself back to the present, exhaling deeply as she began her set of fifty surya namaskars for the day. A purist by nature, Pari never did her own yoga while teaching it. It was important to her to keep an eye on her students. This hour between classes was her special time for herself, when she could just put the past behind her and recharge herself with the calm only yoga gave her.

Vivan put the phone back on the table with a sense of irritation. Two calls, one after the other, had only served to remind him of the annoying fact that people sometimes did business based on reasons that had little to do with business.

The first was from Dev, delivering the news that Catalisis, a leading IT company associated with initiating the first big outsourcing burst in jobs, had suddenly decided against giving their multimillion-dollar uniforms contract to Fitness Fanatics. This, despite advanced stages of discussions and the fact that the company had acknowledged that Fitness Fanatics’ designs and pricing were unparalleled.

‘I thought you were confident this contract was in the bag?’ Vivan asked coldly. ‘Why would they string you along for a whole fortnight of negotiations if the intent wasn’t there?’

‘We had it in our hands,’ Dev said softly. ‘I had even shared details of all the vendors we source from.’

‘Without a signed contract? Was that wise?’

‘It was essential. They are a conservative company, sir. They like to be sure they are correct in every way.’

‘Every single aspect of our product is impeccable. Surely they can’t fault us on any of that?’ Vivan asked abruptly.

‘It’s just that, sir, they are a little old-fashioned,’ Dev mumbled.

‘Meaning?’

‘Er … I think perhaps it’s because Mr Mahesh Swamy is a very family-oriented man. And even though he’s retired and taken on a corporate mentor role now, the company ethos is still pretty much guided by him. Perhaps that’s why they, er … preferred to give the business to a like-minded partner like Karamvir Singh of Nirvana Designs. His wife and he are a very visible couple. His wife does a lot of charity work too.’

‘You’re not serious! That’s a pretty far-fetched hypothesis. Maybe you need to find out what the real inside story is.’

‘Actually, sir, my source within the company informs me that until the day that … er … photo of you with that Hollywood sex symbol came out in the newspaper, they hadn’t even considered anyone other than our company,’ Dev somehow found the voice to say. If he had to hold down his job as Country Manager, he would need to make sure at least he wasn’t keeping anything back from his boss.

Vivan cursed himself inwardly. Considering the many stunning women he had been with, he had still managed to keep a relatively low profile in the Indian media to quite a large extent. This bloody picture had been taken on a day when he had been escorting a desirable but rather needy blonde supermodel to the red-carpet opening of a show on Broadway. To his distaste the woman was way too interested in public displays of affection and the paparazzi had a field day. One of those images had made its way to a very undesirable tabloid in India. Usually that kind of nonsense never came in the way of winning him business. If anything, it had just added to the enigma—making him an even more coveted success symbol. But come to think of it, this wasn’t the first time Vivan had been given feedback of this nature.

In Australia too, on a few occasions lately, Vivan had wondered if his playboy reputation, albeit low-key, had worked to take away from the hard-core professional he was. He wondered if it was time he did something about it. Perhaps he would give some thought to settling down.

If this development wasn’t bothersome enough, there had been that other call with the investigation agency. Becoming one of the top ten billionaires in the US had got Vivan used to instant top-of-the-line service. His brief to the agency was clear-cut. They needed to check the antecedents of a Ms Pari, of yoga teacher fame, and do it right away. It was inexcusable that they needed forty-eight hours to get back to him. To think this was one of the leading multinationals in the investigation field he was speaking with! Yes, of course he knew this was the festive season, and of course he knew that during the entire period running from Id, Ganesh Chaturthi, then Durga Puja and Dussehra, right up to Diwali work practically came to a stop in many different parts of the country.

Vivan told himself once again—Welcome back. Isn’t this just the kind of thing you missed about India? The fact that money isn’t everything here.

There was only one thing to be done, Vivan decided. A visit to Vasant Vihar was in order. And it wasn’t exactly a place off his radar either.

Years ago he and Sonia had spent practically every evening they could just hanging loose about the Priya cinema area in Vasant Vihar, watching the folks with the money burn it with careless abandon.

Not any more. Now Vivan was the youngest billionaire in the under-thirties list.

Creating the first eco-friendly stretch that became the most sought-after fabric in the US and Europe, with practically every major sporting team and top-rung designers all vying to incorporate this ‘green’ versatile fabric into their apparel, he took a meteoric rise and was now reckoned to be one of the most eligible bachelors in the world—a fact he found only brought out the bloodhound in every woman he came across.

‘Your car will be here within a few seconds, sir.’ The manager was at Vivan’s side within seconds.

‘I’m looking to drive something myself today.’

‘You have driven in Delhi before, sir?’ the man asked, concerned.

Vivan nodded, the lump in his throat barely visible. The last time he’d driven here was ten years ago. A borrowed motorcycle from his boss to take Sonia out for an ice cream. She had loved to feel the cool summer breeze on her cheeks as they drove down the wide roads of India Gate at night, parking as close as they could to the sacred Amar Jyoti on Rajpath—the perpetual flame kept burning in honour of the many unknown soldiers who gave their lives for India’s freedom. ‘Didi, I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten for days.’ The beggar child would fix her sad, soulful eyes on Sonia—a sucker for any sob story. And so often his tender-hearted sister would quietly hand over the unopened ‘orange bar’ ice lolly that she had waited so long to have, without a second thought.

Vivan had been fourteen and Sonia twelve when their father, a marketing man, had abandoned the family for a younger woman. Leaving barely enough in the bank to pay the bills for that month. With both his mother and sister engulfed in deep grief, Vivan had felt he could never allow himself the luxury of emotion. So what, he told himself, if they had been well off? They could get used to the government-funded school they changed to. So what if they had led a protective life? He knew they could move on. They had to move on. Vivan had resolved he had to fast become the man of the family and picked up small jobs cleaning people’s cars straight after school to help out. Dreaming of the day he would save enough to buy back the life they had left behind.

But that dream was crushed too when his mother died just a year later, broken-hearted and defeated from it all.

Sonia, though younger than Vivan by only two years, thought she had to play older sister to him. She would wait up late most nights for him. They would sit together laughing as they ate her failed cooking attempt of the day, no matter what time he got home from the gruelling ‘assistant to the assistant to the head designer’ evening job he had finally got when he was sixteen. ‘You’ve got to concentrate on your studies and sleep early. Stop being such a mere bhaiya sacrificing type,’ he used to tease her. Right till the day two years later, when he got onto that plane that took him away from India. He blamed himself for letting her convince him that she would be fine, that there was no reason for him to worry at all. She kept assuring him she was in a safe hostel; she liked her new part-time job at the store; and two years from now, when he had got his design specialisation from America, none of this would matter. That his going away on that scholarship was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity he shouldn’t blow. He had to go, he must go; Sonia had kept urging him to give his dream a shot at least; to change their lives. And how it did!

Sonia. The only family he had had. To think that he had even briefly believed the police report that was sent to him, that the cause of death was an accident. That Sonia had been crossing the road carelessly, when the lights had turned green and a speeding SUV had run her over. He should have guessed right then that it was just not in Sonia’s nature to be that distracted. The police had told him that in the time it had taken them to trace his contact details, the funeral had already been taken care of. And then, when he’d come back, the earliest that he could, the hostel warden had handed him all of Sonia’s meagre belongings. That was when he’d found it. Her perfectly ordinary-looking diary.

At first the entries had been full of worry and hope, missing him, her only brother; counting the days to their once-a-week phone calls, which were all he could afford then.

7th Jan: It’s been 5 days since Vivan called. Hope all is OK.

9th Jan: I can never get used to it. Imagine Vivan is starting his day when I’m ready to go to bed. He’ll be working all the time while I’m fast asleep.

And then Sonia had started writing about a customer who had walked into the store.

20th Mar: Today this man came to the shop and all the girls got so excited I thought it’s some film star.

Waise lagta film star ki tarah hi tha. Even I—and you know I never stare at any customer like the rest of the girls—couldn’t help noticing his thighs. It’s because he was wearing these jeans which are in fashion … all torn near the knees and iski jeans were torn a little more.

21st Mar: He was in the shop again. I like the dark blue shirt he was wearing. Tightly fitted and tapering to his waist. Looks like John Abraham but of course I didn’t tell the girls or anyone. It’s our secret. BTW I got to see his credit card and his name is Deepak Dewan.

30th Mar: I don’t know why Deepak keeps coming to the shop and asking only me to attend to him. 2nd Apr: The girls have started teasing me he’s interested. He hardly looks at the shirts I show. Interested? In me?? I don’t think so.

7th Apr: Deepak looks at me so intently and says such beautiful things—I feel so special … Wonder what Vivan would think about him? It’s not something I can tell him about in just five minutes on the phone.

Vivan’s blood boiled just at the thought of how the bastard had seen Sonia for the innocent she was and played with her emotions ruthlessly. That trusting love-struck girl had been putty in his hands as Deepak had flirted with flamboyance; charming her, learning that she lived alone with no family in Delhi.

10th Apr: Today when we were walking in Deer Park, I know he wanted to kiss me. I wanted it too but I know he won’t try anything funny like that. He’s crazy and fun and all that but he’s decent that way. I think Vivan would like him. But I don’t know how to start the topic.

12th Apr: Deepak is mad. Just MAD. Can you believe today he shouted from the top of the Qutub Minar that he loves me? I felt so shy. Everyone must have heard.

13th Apr: When Deepak kisses me I feel so beautiful. To think he wants me, me, out of all the girls in the world. But he says he wants me 100%, not just these stolen kisses in movie halls and parks. I wish Mama was alive. I’m so confused.

15th Apr: It happened today. I feel shy to even write about it but you know everything, dear diary, don’t you? It wasn’t very romantic or even comfortable … How can it be …? In the back of a car … but it’ll get better I’m sure.

Vivan had felt uncomfortable even reading about Sonia’s most private experiences; written in a shy way—full of love for the insatiable and, by the sounds of it, very reckless Deepak. And then when Sonia started sharing with Deepak her dreams of a future with him, her need to stay connected with him right through the day; wanting to hear his words of love—it started falling apart.