Fear Is the Key Read online

  Suddenly, she lost her composure. She was alone in the cavernous compound. The light outside had disappeared, and the internal swimming pool lights looked ghostly. She crossed the shallow portion and entered the deep end of the pool. For some reason, she looked down rather than charting her path ahead. She saw the slope of the pool dip almost nine feet and stretch on till the end of the tiled wall. She felt a moment of panic. With a shock, she realized that she would not be able to complete the length. She lost all control, and her numbed mind desperately tried to instruct her arms and feet to stay on course. It was hopeless. She was confused and tried to remember the basic breathing lessons. She ended up doing the exact opposite and opened her mouth. She could have swallowed the chlorinated water and pumped her arms to come up to the surface. But her panic, like the water, engulfed her. In desperation, she thrashed around, but the water sucked out all air from her lungs.

  Simone dropped like a stone to the bottom. She was forced to look at all her fears in real time. She felt her brain and ears would explode from the pressure building up inside her. She had stopped breathing, but strangely, her physical trauma was nothing compared to the terror that awaited her at the bottom of the pool. She looked with widened eyes as the pool changed hue and shape. The sum of all her fears had acquired a human face. It looked at her impassively as she was sucked to it. Then, just as it was the beginning of the end, she was pulled out by some great force. She passed out as she surfaced.

  She woke up to find the man with the bulge sitting on top of her, pumping her chest to clear the water from her lungs.

  She was gagging and throwing up water, and after a while, she managed to react.

  ‘You got a really big one, mister. Wow!’

  The middle-aged man suppressed a laugh and focused on getting her lungs to work again. Simone’s breathing normalized, and the man got off her.

  ‘You are in shock, and you are disoriented. But it will pass. Try getting up slowly.’

  The bai wrapped Simone in towels and, with some help from the man, helped her to her feet.

  ‘You think you can manage?’ he asked, concerned.

  Simone nodded, even though she felt wobbly. She grasped the man’s hand.

  ‘Thank you so much. You saved my life. I hope I did not say anything stupid. Actually, there was something stupid I was thinking about before I went down. I think I remember that. It’s so embarrassing.’

  The man smiled. ‘Don’t worry about all that. You were the picture of restraint. Luckily, I popped out of the men’s room for a stroll before my shower. Anyway, I think you should see a doctor. You never know with these things.’

  ‘No, I am fine. Thanks again.’

  The man nodded and turned to go, and then he stopped.

  ‘Promise me one thing though. That would be the right way to thank me. Don’t give up on swimming. Nine out of ten people would, after such trauma. You can be the odd tenth. Confront your fears. It was your fear, not your swimming skills, which took you down.’

  Simone was struck by the man’s words.

  ‘I don’t intend to. You are right. I have to get past what’s blocking me.’

  Later, a little late into the night, a Zuber taxi came to a halt in front of a three-storey house in Defence Colony. Simone wearily climbed out of the taxi and made her way to the barsati on the third floor. She closed the door behind her and looked at her apartment.

  She burst into tears and howled with pain as the shock hit her. She wept till she could cry no more. Then she called up the pizza delivery guy.

  ‘Make it a large pepperoni pizza, the largest you have, with extra cheese and jalapeno topping. Two Cokes and an ice cream too.’

  An hour later, she switched off a rerun of Friends on her TV. She gave up on the half-eaten pizza and sipped the last of her Coke from a can. She got up and walked to the full-length mirror in her bedroom, next to the living room. She stripped and looked at herself wondrously.

  ‘Sweet Mother Mary, sweet Mother Mary, thank you, thank you . . . ’

  She cried some more and tenderly felt the cross around her neck; she touched her thatch, her breasts, her navel, her eyes, and then she went down on her knees and cried uncontrollably again, rocking back and forth.

  She quietened after some time and lay on the carpet, staring at the ceiling. She spoke to the ceiling.

  ‘I will not go down without a fight, Fear. I saw your face at the bottom of the pool. I know what you feel and look like. I will face up to you. Oh, yes, I will. That’s a promise. As for you, you mother-fucking, born of a gutter, fat-man Suhel . . . I will come after you. You were on top of me last week. Now it’s my turn. And once I am on top of you, I will not yield. Never.’

  The bell outside the apartment rang shrilly. Simone continued to lie spread-eagled, and the bell continued to ring with persistence. Finally, she got up, strode across the room, went up to the door and peeped through the eyehole. She thought for a moment, and then opened the door. Rahul Abhyankar stood in the doorway holding a bouquet of orchids.

  Rahul looked at Simone standing naked in front of him, looking wild-eyed. He smiled slightly.

  She caught him by his tie and pulled him in. She closed the door behind her.

  CHAPTER 5

  Simone pushed Rahul into an armchair and scooped up the half-eaten pizza.

  ‘Pizza or me?’ she asked.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ pleaded Rahul. ‘I know you are mad at me. I can explain. It was you who told me once that you were a die-hard professional. You don’t need crutches to stand up in a room full of men. I respect what you told me then, Simone. That’s the only reason I have stayed out of the fight between Suhel and you.’

  Simone threw the pizza on the floor and climbed on to Rahul’s lap. ‘I was not talking about fat-man. I was asking you if you wanted to eat a pizza. If a pizza does not interest you, what does?’

  Rahul buried his head in her breasts. He slid down and kissed her belly button. Simone held him by the shoulders and pushed him back on the armchair.

  ‘Stay still, Rahul. Don’t say or do anything. Let me look at you for a moment. There is great virtue in silence and inaction.’

  She looked deep into his eyes and then stared at his handsome face as if she was looking at it for the first time. She could see that he was very poor at masking the feelings of tenderness, love and lust for her. She wished he could. But he was open-hearted and open-eyed about it. Stroking his sideburns, she told him, ‘I nearly died today.’

  Rahul looked shocked. He gripped her with intensity.

  ‘What happened . . . what . . .?’

  She looked him for a while before she answered. ‘I meant in a metaphorical sense. I felt like throwing myself in front of a metro train on the way back.’

  ‘Oh, you poor baby! I did not know this Suhel thing affected you so badly. I am so sorry. Come to me. Let me kiss you where you are hurting.’

  They went to bed, and Rahul approached her like she was delicate porcelain. He kept kissing her gently and apologizing in whispers. He moved rhythmically on top of her, and a faint trail of sweat that began at the small of his back travelled below. He could feel pleasure course through him. Simone held up his face and said, ‘Rahul, open your eyes when you make love to me. Don’t keep them closed. I like to look at you.’

  He soon collapsed on her, and her finger traced the band of sweat on his back. Her fingertip lingered on a bubble, which she held up against the yellowed light. It sparkled like an illicit diamond dug deep from a mine. He snuggled up to her and rubbed her shoulders.

  ‘Talk to me. I know you are hurting. Let it out, and let me in.’

  Simone took her time to reply. ‘You have been insisting since you have come in. There is nothing holding me back. I can deal with fat-man. If you are so keen to do something, open the window.’

  ‘But it’s November end,’ he protested. ‘It was fairly nippy when I came in.’

  She continued to look at the window as if someone was standing outs
ide it. When she spoke, it was in a whisper. ‘What’s the worst that can happen? I will catch a chill, it might flare up into pneumonia, and I will die? Do you have any idea, Rahul, what people think about the most? It’s sex and death. We fear both, we are fascinated with both. We keep running away from death instead of chasing it. Men chase skirts, and if they are smart, they take them to bed. We make a song and dance about death. When you look at it from close quarters, you understand its strange pull over you. It’s the prettiest skirt you can ever chase.’

  Rahul climbed over her and walked to the window to open it.

  ‘You are in quite a mood. Guess I will have to take my chances with the cold, pneumonia and death. Move over and let me get you warm.’

  He held her in his arms, his back to the open window. She continued to look out, the moonlight falling over her face. He rambled on.

  ‘I know Suhel is not easy to work with. I should know. We have been together for God knows how long. He can be rude and insensitive, but he has his strengths. We are like yin and yang, bringing in different energies. You might not believe this. I had been waiting for a person like you to come into the picture and correct the balance. We are where we are today not because of our good cop–bad cop routine but because of your ideas and creativity. But I guess the time has come for me to draw some red lines for Suhel.’ He looked deep into her face and whispered, ‘I am crazy about you, girl.’

  Simone continued to look at the moon distractedly, with Rahul’s words buzzing around her like a reassuring drone. She watched the moon landscape, and wide-eyed she marked its territory. By then, Rahul had fallen asleep in her arms.

  It was close to 3 a.m. when Rahul woke up with a start. A chilling wind was blowing through the open window. He felt for Simone next to him but she was not there. He got up and quickly put on his trousers. He looked for her in the washroom, but it was empty. Then he opened the door and walked over to the living room. It was eerily quiet, and there was no sign of Simone. He switched on the light in the passageway and peeked into the kitchen. The basin tap was dripping. He closed it tight and went out looking for Simone. He even searched for her in the tiny storeroom. There was no one there. That left only a door at the back, which led to a flight of stairs to the terrace. The door was slightly ajar. He raced up the stairs in a state of panic.

  The terrace looked strange, squeaky clean and empty in the moonlight. Panic overwhelmed him, and he rushed to the edge of the terrace and looked down into the street. It looked like any other street at three in the night. He breathed a little easy and turned to go back to the bedroom and check her mobile.

  It was then that a crazy thought struck him. He circled back to a massive water tank that stood on a pedestal at the other end of the terrace. A short flight of steps led up to it. He climbed up. There she was. Simone, lying naked, spread-eagled on the top, staring wide-eyed at the moon. She was shivering convulsively. He felt the complete terror of the situation. He did not know what to say to her. She did not respond as he rushed up to her and took her into his arms.

  ‘You’re safe, baby . . . I’m here . . . I’m here for you.’ He mumbled as he half-carried, half-dragged her downstairs to the bedroom and wrapped her in a blanket. Then he smothered her in his arms to give her some more warmth.

  It was close to 4.30 a.m. when he drifted off to sleep, Simone still in his arms.

  She woke up just as he dozed off and looked out for the moon that had disappeared behind the clouds. She spoke in a whisper to no one in particular.

  ‘Since when have you been fucking me, Rahul?’

  CHAPTER 6

  Simone drank two cups of coffee and downed an aspirin to clear her head the next morning. She offered to iron Rahul’s crumpled shirt, but he refused. He kissed her between a mouthful of toast and jam, grabbed his laptop bag and reached for his car keys that were on the shelf.

  ‘I have to run,’ he told her. ‘A team from KPMG is coming in early. Hopefully, we should be able to flesh out the IPO details today. You take your time coming to office. Rest. Give me a kiss.’

  She placed a peck on his cheek and came to close the door behind him. He, however, hung around.

  ‘I hope we cleared the air,’ he said, showing his reluctance to leave without closure. ‘You were completely weird last night. I hope all that is behind us. Feel free to deal with Suhel any way you want. You are important to me; no one else is.’

  She nodded again, trying to close the door. He stayed a little longer, hoping for a reassuring word.

  ‘Ask me so that I can move in with you.’

  ‘No,’ she replied flatly. ‘That’s not going to happen. I prefer it this way. I value my independence above all things.’

  He looked playfully glum as she began to force the door shut on him.

  ‘Another kiss maybe?’ he pleaded through the crack.

  She shut the door on him and pressed her temples. The headache was coming back again. She made herself another cup of coffee and sat down to think about how she should recover lost ground in the office.

  Around the same time, her bête noire was driving his Mahindra SUV across a rutted inner road in Khirki Extension. Suhel rolled down a window and looked up to identify the building he had been advised to visit. The sky above was a mesh of electrical wires. Every building climbed up three or four storeys, never mind if it didn’t have the legs to support it. An open drain ran along the road, ending in a garbage enclosure that was closed from three sides. Pigs covered in grime walked around the dump, pulling out any item of edible interest to them.

  ‘Fucking place!’ swore Suhel under his breath. ‘Where the fuck is the building?’

  Suhel stopped the car and consulted his GPS for directions. He reversed and nearly knocked over a man coming up behind him. The man let out a stream of obscenities.

  ‘Tau, bawla ho gaya hai? Gari chadhaiyega hum par? Chutiye, gari hamare pas bhi hai! Bahar nikal teri khabar leta hu, saale . . .’

  Suhel cursed some more under his breath and sped away. He turned on to another road and saw a familiar signboard: ‘Afriki, Irani shoodent wellcum. Room, bed, tea with aamlette available’, which meant ‘African, Iranian students welcome. Room, bed, tea with omelettes available.’

  Suhel recovered some of his good humour after seeing it. He parked in the shade of the building and climbed up a few flights of stairs. His shirt was soaked in sweat by the time he came up to an iron grill door. He spoke into the intercom to introduce himself. The door opened and he walked towards a prefabricated shed. A tough-looking man called Manu Gujjar sat outside.

  ‘All well, pal?’ asked Suhel. ‘I am expected inside.’

  The man nodded and opened the door to the shed. Suhel walked into the gloom. Slowly, his eyes picked up the scores of desktop computers and the army of youngsters manning them. At the end of the hall, a man wearing dark glasses sat behind a glass cabin. Suhel walked towards him and extended a hand. The man in the cabin ignored it.

  ‘I would rather fancy a bag full of notes instead of a handshake,’ said the man. ‘Polite greetings are lost on me. My time is precious. State your case.’

  Suhel liked the in-your-face quality of the fixer. This man reminded him that there were far more ruthless characters in the trade than he could ever hope to be.

  ‘You come highly recommended. Can I call you Om Puri?’ asked Suhel. ‘You remind me of the late actor. You have that kind of a pockmarked face with dark glasses.’

  The man shrugged. ‘Okay, I will be Om Puri for this meeting. I can be Babita or Rita too as long as you show me the colour of money.’

  ‘Good, that’s a start. It’s a bit hot in here. Can I get a soda or some chilled water?’

  The man christened Om for the meeting leaned forward. ‘Mister, I have a hundred boys working for me. I pay them by the hour. I have an unwritten rule for them. If they get up to pee, drink water, anything . . . for even a minute, I deduct their salaries. Now state your case.’

  Suhel smiled and got up. He pulled
out his shirt from his pants and unbuckled a money belt. He tossed the money encased in plastic on the table.

  ‘Brand new Rs 2000 notes worth thirty lakhs,’ he said. ‘Count them if you want.’

  ‘No need,’ said Om.

  Suhel sat down again and began the negotiations. ‘I want your trolls to trash Navin Sikand’s reputation. I want social media splashed with the story that he is a debauched character. I want you to create the narrative that he has sex parties at his Mehrauli farmhouse; throw in a tasty bite about him being an abuser and a bit soft in the head. I want practically every Facebook and Twitter account talking about him. I want your people to fake his pictures and upload them on Instagram. I want the social media world buzzing about Sikand in a negative way. And, I want that people should have a sense that Yummimages was in some way responsible for exposing a politician like Sikand. I want every kid in the country to know about Yummimages.’

  Om fingered the money packed in plastic.

  ‘Something personal going on here?’

  Suhel chose to answer carefully. ‘You hide behind dark glasses. I have my reasons. Let’s talk money and timelines.’

  Om did not appear too convinced by Suhel’s explanation. ‘Your own troopers in office are masters at digging and throwing dirt all around. Why come to us? I still don’t get it.’

  Suhel answered with some impatience. ‘We are a legit company. We can’t breach certain boundaries. Besides, I don’t call all the shots in the company. There are other competing interests who would never allow me to go to this end. Now, do we have a deal?’

  Om thought for a moment and smiled behind the dark glasses.