Page 9 of 12 Years: My Messed-up Love Story

‘And I have contacts in the police and everywhere. I’ll destroy you and your career.’

This was Jain rage going unchecked, dude. I looked at Payal. Say something, girl.

‘Dad, you can’t do this. I want you to meet him properly. Saket is important to me.’

‘You’re under his spell. He’s too old for you. And he’s divorced. What were you even thinking?’

‘I was thinking that I’d finally found a real person who loved me for who I am. Unlike this family, where everyone pretends all the time and everything is fake,’

Payal said.

Thwack! I heard a sound as Yashodha deposited a tight slap across Payal’s face.

‘Ungrateful girl! So much your father has done for you, and you call all this fake,’

she said, her face red with anger.

Payal held her face in shock, unable to believe what had just happened.

‘Get out,’

Yashodha said to me.

‘Patil’s men will be here in five minutes,’

Anand said.

I looked at everyone in the room, all of them as still as the bronze statues around me. I figured nothing good would come if I continued to stay there.

‘Okay, fine. I’ll leave, Unc … sorry, Mr Jain. Bye Mrs Jain. Thank you. I hope to see you again. Let’s resolve this when we’re all calmer.’

‘Never … I’m warning you. Never approach Payal or our family again,’

Anand said, his finger pointed towards the main door, showing me the exit.

Om, om, I heard the machine behind me as I left.

‘I feel so trapped,’

Payal said, looking out at the sunset.

We sat in the café of the Oberoi Hotel at Nariman Point, near her office. She had finished work early and come to see me for half an hour before going back home. Ever since that crazy day at her house, things had changed dramatically. Payal’s mother had moved into her Parel apartment. Yashodha Jain now dropped Payal off at work every morning and then picked her up in the evening. On top of that, Payal also had to spend the entire weekend at her parents’

place in Ghatkopar. All of this made it impossible for her to come to my place or for me to go to hers. Even for this brief meeting, Payal had slipped out of office and walked over to the Oberoi before her mother came to pick her up.

‘Beer?’ I said.

‘Mom will smell it instantly,’

she said, shaking her head.

We sat across from each other in silence. That fateful day had hit us like an earthquake, turning our lives upside down.

‘My window ledge misses you,’ I said.

‘That’s our ledge,’

Payal said.

‘You have no idea how much I miss the Bandra apartment. I wanted to sneak out of work one day and come over.’

‘No, don’t. Let’s not take any more chances. If your parents find out, it’s over for us.’

‘I miss you, Saket,’

Payal said, holding my hand.

‘I miss you too. How long does your mom plan to play the warden and guard you? She can’t do this forever.’

‘Presumably until they get me married. Which they now want to do at turbo speed.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Yes.’

‘With that Parimal?’

‘Yeah. They’re in love with him.’

‘Payal, we can’t just sit around. We must do something.’

‘Like what?’

‘I must meet them again. To convince them that I’m not some pervert.’

‘How? They won’t even let you into the building, forget the house. Security won’t allow it.’

‘Then somewhere outside? Tell me a place they visit frequently. I’ll pretend to run into them. Where do they go the most?’

‘Jain temples.’

‘I could bump into them there.’

‘They’ll know it’s a plan. Why else would you be at a Jain temple?’

‘Any other temples they visit?’

Payal thought for a second before she spoke again.

‘They go to Siddhivinayak once a month.’

‘Okay, that’s a famous temple. It’s plausible for me to run into them there.’

‘It’s crowded.’

‘I’ll figure that out. But Payal, can you also come to the temple with them that day, please?’

‘Baby, are you sure?’

I shushed her, placing my finger against her lips.

‘I’ve been told that men have fought wars for love. I can visit a temple.’

Siddhivinayak, in Dadar, is one of Mumbai’s most popular temples. Dedicated to Lord Ganesha, it draws huge crowds of devotees from morning to night. Payal’s parents believed in doing an early-morning darshan, at 4 a.m.

The night before their intended visit—and my planne.

‘bumping into them’—I had a show until midnight. After the show, I hung around at the Crayon Club bar.

‘What’s up, bro? How was the show?’

Mudit said as he came and sat next to me.

‘The show was good,’ I said.

‘And how’s life?’

‘Life’s complicated at the moment.’

‘Really? What happened? And how’s that schoolgirl you’re dating? What’s her name?’

‘Payal. And she’s not a schoolgirl. She’s a private equity analyst. With Blackwater. And we’re serious. You know all this. Not funny, Mudit.’

Mudit laughed.

I maintained a serious expression.

‘Okay, tell me everything. What’s going on? And by the way, why are you wearing a kurta today?’

Mudit said.

‘Yes, I’ll tell you. I’m supposed to meet her parents in a couple of hours …’

I then went on to recount everything that had happened on that crazy day.

Mudit’s mouth hung open as I finished.

‘And now, I plan to run into her parents at 4 a.m., at Siddhivinayak, and make an elevator pitch. For our relationship. That’s why the kurta.’

‘Bro, wait,’

Mudit said, letting out a long breath.

‘Are you saying that Payal’s parents saw your junior?’

‘Stop it, dude, and yes,’ I said.

Mudit burst out laughing.

‘Bro, you have to do a comedy set about this. I’m telling you, it’ll be a massive hit.’

‘Mudit, this is my life. And I’m suffering,’

I said and stood up to leave.

‘The best jokes come out of life and suffering,’

Mudit called after me, still laughing.

‘We left home ten minutes ago,’

I received Payal’s message.

It was 3.40 a.m. I was half a kilometre away from Siddhivinayak, having decided to walk from the comedy club to the temple.

‘Great, I’m just about to reach,’

I replied, crossing the last traffic signal before the temple.

The Siddhivinayak Temple is relatively small as compared to other famous temples in India.

Mumbai’s space constraints apply to everything, including places of worship.

While the temple wasn’t exactly crowded at this hour, it was still buzzing with activity.

The bright temple lights and the sound of bells ringing, all set against the pitch-dark pre-dawn sky, made the experience of being there even more ethereal.

I’d reached the temple before the Jains arrived.

I went into the sanctum sanctorum, where the saffron-coloured idol of Lord Ganesha is placed for darshan.

Another name for Lord Ganesha is Vighnaharta, which mean.

‘remover of obstacles’.

As I bowed and prayed to him, I wondered if he would remove my obstacles.

I apologized for what I’d done wrong, and prostrated myself before him, my face touching the floor.

I got up, and the priest applied a saffron tilak on my forehead.

When I turned around, I saw Payal and her parents standing a few steps away.

My heartbeat quickened.

Payal noticed me, but she didn’t react.

I quickly moved aside to let her family complete their darshan. Like me, they bowed, they prayed and the priest applied tilak on their foreheads. As they stepped away from the idol, I approached them.

‘Uncle, hi,’

I said, and regretted it instantly.

Why did I have to sa.

‘uncle’? Fortunately, my voice was drowned out by the ringing of the temple bells.

‘Namaste, Mr Jain, nice to see you here,’

I said a little loudly, and folded my hands.

It took a few seconds for Anand Jain to register who I was. When he did, he recoiled like he’d spotted a venomous snake. He grabbed Payal’s arm to ensure she remained with him.

‘What are you doing here? I told you to get lost,’ he said.

Okay, not the best start.

He turned to his daughter.

‘What’s he doing here, Payal?’

Payal didn’t respond.

‘I came to the temple,’

I said. Technically, I wasn’t lying. However, Ganpati knew the real story. I hoped he would forgive me for concealing the truth for the sake of love.

‘Yashodha, let’s go,’

Anand said, still gripping Payal’s arm. Without another word, they marched out of the temple, dragging Payal with them into the courtyard.

I ran up behind them.

‘Mr Jain, Mrs Jain, please. Wait. I just need to talk to you once. Nothing else.’

‘We’re not interested in anything you have to say. Please, leave us alone,’

Yashodha said.

‘We’re here in Ganpati’s home. This is about Payal and my life. Please,’ I said.

‘You don’t have to worry about Payal’s life,’

Yashodha said, pulling her daughter close to her.

‘Mom, Dad, please, don’t grab me.’

Payal spoke for the first time.

‘And what’s the big deal about having a talk?’

‘Stop talking back—’

Yashodha said.

‘I’m not,’

Payal interrupted her.

‘I’m asking you to consider his reasonable request. Let’s just sit down and talk, like mature people. Not run away. We’re all adults here.’

‘What adult stuff you do, we know,’

Yashodha said.

‘I could’ve run away with Payal,’

I said in a calm yet firm voice.

‘But I didn’t. Legally, you can’t stop us.’

‘Are you threatening us?’

Anand said, sounding incredulous.

A few temple-goers noticed the altercation between us.

I lowered my voice and continued.

‘I’m here out of respect for you both, sir. There’s a tea shop outside the temple, near the mithai shops. It’s open. Let’s go there. I want to talk to you about something.’

‘Talk about what?’

Yashodha said. She looked at Payal with a worried expression, as if I was going to drop a bombshell about Payal being pregnant or something.

‘Just a normal conversation. Over a cup of tea. Please …’ I said.

‘Mom, Dad, it’ll only take a few minutes,’

Payal said.

Anand and Yashodha exchanged wary glances. Then Payal’s father gave a brief nod.

Feeling a little relieved, I led them out of the temple complex to the tea stall.

‘Four teas, please,’

I said to the owner of the tea stall.

We sat down on the rickety wooden stools kept outside the shop.

‘Without sugar for me,’

Yashodha said.

‘And none for him as well,’

she added, pointing to her husband.

‘Less sugar, not completely without sugar. Less milk, and really hot,’

Anand said.

No matter how upset Indian parents are, they’re still particular about their tea.

‘Say whatever you want to say. Make it fast. We don’t have time,’

Anand said.

I’d been waiting for the tea to arrive, hoping it would calm the hot tempers. ‘Yes,’

I said, sitting up straight on my stool.

‘Firstly, once again, I apologize for what happened that day … when you walked into what we thought was our private moment.’

‘What do you mean private moment?’

Yashodha snapped, eating a sugar-filled modak from a box purchased from the mithai store next to the tea stall.

‘Let’s leave all that behind, ma’am. I’ve apologized multiple times for it. The Jains are known to be the most forgiving people. You have this beautiful concept of “michhami dukkadam”, isn’t it? It means to seek forgiveness. That’s all I ask from you.’

Payal’s parents looked at each other, surprised. For a moment, their anger seemed to subside, before Anand remembered the situation again and regained his stern expression.

I continued.

‘Anyway, coming to the point, in the interest of time …’

‘There is no point,’

Anand said, picking up a modak from the box his wife held out towards him.

‘We’re being forced to sit here.’

I wished they would offer me a modak too. I was hungry. I needed sugar to deal with the stress.

‘Okay. I know about Parimal,’ I said.

Payal looked at me, surprised.

‘You told him?’

Yashodha said to Payal, looking at her daughter with her default expression of disappointment.

Payal shrugged her shoulders.

‘Yes, she told me,’

I said.

‘And I understand you think he’s the right match for her. I can see why.’

Payal’s parents looked at me, surprised again.

I continued.

‘However, I don’t think Payal will be happy with him, if that matters to you. Neither will Parimal be happy with her. Sometimes, it isn’t only about what looks right on paper. It’s also about chemistry and compatibility.’

‘And you think you and Payal are compatible?’

Yashodha said, smirking.

‘There’s a huge age difference between you two.’

‘I understand that. But we are compatible—it isn’t about biological age alone. Even if it were, I’m fitter than many twenty-year-olds. Also, I plan to remain healthy.’

‘You’re divorced. And not even a Jain. Do you see what that will do to us in society? And what work do you do now anyway?’

Anand said.

‘I’m a professional stand-up comic,’ I said.

‘Stand-up what?’

Yashodha said, genuinely confused.

‘I perform on stage and make people laugh. I get paid for it. Reasonably well now.’

‘I’ll tell all my relatives that Payal is marrying a stage artist?’

Yashodha looked horrified.

‘I’m doing this by choice. This is my passion. If need be, I can always get a tech job or start a business. In India or abroad. I still get offers,’ I said.

‘What’s your name again?’

Anand said.

‘Saket, sir.’

‘See, that’s all fine, Saket. But we don’t approve of this match.’

‘Why not?’

‘We just don’t. You can’t force us to.’

‘Neither can you stop us,’ I said.

Anand stood up with a disgusted expression.

‘If you threaten us like this, I don’t want to be here. Payal, Yashodha, let’s leave.’

‘Sit, Dad, please,’

Payal said.

We stayed silent as Anand fumed for a few seconds. Then he sat down again.

‘Let us do it the right way,’

I said.

‘You can speak to my parents. We can have a ceremony whenever you want. I would ideally like to wait some time before the actual marriage, as would Payal, that’s all.’

‘Ceremony?’

Yashodha said.

‘Roka or whatever traditions you follow before marriage. We would like to do it with your blessings.’

Anand and Yashodha looked at me blankly, as if I was a foreign tourist talking to them in Greek.

‘Listen to me carefully, Mr Saket,’

Anand said after a long pause.

‘I’m not going to repeat this or meet you again. Payal is going to marry Parimal. We’ll perform the ceremonies, but between Parimal and Payal. Clear?’

He set his empty teacup aside and popped another modak into his mouth. He spoke again only after finishing the sweet.

‘This is the last time I want to see or hear from you. Otherwise, I’ll have you arrested. And you’ll never be able to live in Mumbai. Payal, Yashodha, get up.’

Yashodha stood up. But Payal didn’t move.

‘Get up. Now, Payal,’

Anand shouted.

Payal stood up reflexively. And before I could respond, they were gone. I realized they’d left the mithai box behind, with four modaks inside. I popped all four into my mouth, hoping the sugar overdose would numb my pain. It did. A little bit.

I dropped my face into my hands, fighting back tears.

‘You will pay for the tea?’

the tea-stall owner said, tapping my back.

Messages to Payal didn’t get delivered. Calls wouldn’t go through. Her WhatsApp display picture vanished. She’d blocked me. I checked her Instagram and Facebook profiles—I’d been blocked there as well.

I hadn’t heard from her since the Siddhivinayak meeting a week ago. In desperation, I called the Blackwater landline number.

‘Blackwater Capital, how may I help you?’

a lady answered.

‘May I speak to Payal Jain, please?’

‘Who should I say is calling, please? And what is this regarding?’

‘Tell her it’s Saket. It’s personal.’

‘Please hold a moment,’

the receptionist said.

I was kept on hold for two minutes, but it felt like two hours.

‘I’m sorry, sir. Ms Payal is in a meeting. Can she call you back?’

the receptionist said.

‘Sure.’

I couldn’t write a word for my new set. Comedy was the last thing on my mind. I hadn’t been able to work, work out or work things out with Payal.

Why hadn’t she called? How could she block me? Did I mean nothing to her?

Painful questions swirled around in my head like stones in a blender, pounding my brain.

Two hours later, my phone rang. It was the Blackwater landline number.

‘Hi Saket,’

Payal said, her voice subdued.

‘Payal, finally!’

I said.

‘Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for days. I even called your office earlier.’

‘I know. I was in a board meeting. It just ended. Why did you call at work?’

‘What am I supposed to do? You’ve blocked me everywhere.’

‘Yes. Sorry about that.’

‘Why?’

‘Mom and Dad made me do it.’

‘And you did it?’

‘They took my phone and did it themselves. Things are really bad at home.’

‘How bad?’

‘It’s awful, Saket. They’ve gone nuts. Anyway, this isn’t the best place to talk. I’m at work.’

‘Then meet me.’

‘How? They keep an eye on me all the time.’

‘Sneak out for a bit?’

‘They track my location through some app on my phone.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Yes. I’m on an electronic leash.’

‘And you’re putting up with all this?’

‘Mom threatened to kill herself.’

‘What?’

‘Yeah, listen, I can’t talk freely right now. I’ll call you when I can.’

‘You could’ve called or messaged earlier too. From another number, from this landline number. You could’ve somehow reached out …’

‘I’m sorry, Saket. It’s been rough, trust me. Speak soon, okay? Bye.’

‘Another drink?’

Mudit said.

‘Don’t ask me. Keep them coming,’ I said.

Mudit and I were at Janata Bar at Pali Naka, within walking distance from my house. Every shop around Janata Bar had become posh and gentrified over the last few years due to rising real estate prices. Hardware stores had turned into chic cafés, utensil shops had become upmarket bakeries and rubber-tire shops had transformed into fusion restaurants. But Janata Bar, for whatever reason, had remained unchanged. It was still a place where drivers, labourers and demotivated, heartbroken comedians gathered to get the cheapest drinks in town.

Mudit ordered another round of Old Monk rum and Coke.

‘Buy a bottle, it’ll work out cheaper,’

the waiter said, noticing the amount and the pace at which we were drinking.

Before I could shake my head and say no, Mudit had already made the decision.

‘Fine, get us the bottle. And some starters. Tandoori chicken,’

he told the busy waiter, speaking loudly to make himself heard in the heaving, crowded and noisy bar.

‘That fat, evil Anand Jain. I’ll smash his smug face, Mudit,’

I said, or rather the Old Monk version of me said. I clenched my fists.

‘No, you can’t do that, bro,’

Mudit said.

‘We make people laugh. We make people happy. We don’t hurt them.’

I took a big sip of my drink, finishing it, and slammed the glass hard on the table.

‘What’s the point of these biceps and delts if I never use this strength to teach the bad guys a lesson?’ I said.

‘He’s not a bad guy. Just an overprotective father.’

‘This isn’t protection. This is imprisonment. He’s keeping his daughter captive against her will—making her block me, tracking her location, her mother hovering around her like the world’s most out-of-shape bodyguard. What the hell?’

‘Did you ask Payal to move in with you?’

Mudit said.

‘No. I’ve done nothing. Just been a pussy, meeting them first in their home and then at the temple. Requesting them. Being reasonable.’

‘That phase is over, bro. You tried. Now do what you have to do.’

‘Yeah,’

I said, my words slurring.

‘And … what would that be?’

‘That you have to decide no, bro.’

The waiter arrived with a bottle of Old Monk, a two-litre plastic bottle of Coke and a steel jug with ice. Janata Bar was the opposite of pretentiousness. Sometimes, I wished the entire world was the same.

Mudit made us two more drinks. I was already feeling buzzed. My phone rang. I stared at the screen—the call was from some random landline number.

‘Leave it,’

Mudit said.

‘It’s probably spam. Just drink up.’

He handed me a glass and cut the call. A second later, the same number called again. Mudit disconnected it.

‘The government needs to do something about these spam callers,’ he said.

My phone rang again. It was the same number.

‘Wait,’

Mudit said.

‘let me sort these idiots out. Calling again and again.’

He picked up the call.

‘No, brother, we don’t need mutual funds, property, insurance, an RO filter, shares or credit cards. Why are you spoiling our evening like this?’ he said.

The person on the other end said something. Mudit’s face dropped.

‘Huh? Oh, Payal? It’s you? Sorry, this is Mudit. Yes, he’s here.’

Mudit handed me the phone, biting his tongue and pulling his ears in an apologetic gesture.

‘Payal?’

I grabbed my phone.

‘Yes, it’s me. What number is this? Yes, I’m in a noisy place. Wait, let me step out.’

I walked out to the main road. Noisy conversations were replaced by noisy traffic. I found a relatively quieter side lane.

‘Better now?’ I said.

‘Yes, I can hear you,’

Payal said.

‘I’m at Rockin Scissors.’

‘Where?’

‘It’s a salon in Ghatkopar. I came here so I could call you from their phone. Even if my parents see my location, it’s okay.’

‘Oh, okay. I came out with Mudit.’

‘Where?’

‘Janata Bar, in Bandra.’

‘I miss Bandra so much.’

‘Then come here. Better yet, move here.’

‘What?’

‘Just move into my apartment. I’ll handle the rest,’ I said.

This Old Monk confidence is something else, I tell you.

‘How?’

‘We have no choice, Payal. Run away and come to me. I miss you. I love you. I can’t live without you.’

‘And my parents said they’ll kill themselves if I continue things with you.’

‘Nobody does that, Payal. They’ll come around.’

‘They won’t. Saket, I called to tell you something. Promise you won’t get upset?’

‘What?’

‘They’re coming today. That’s why I came to the salon, to get my make-up and hair done.’

‘Who’s coming?’

‘Parimal and his parents. Along with a few of his close relatives. Mine as well.’

‘Why?’

‘They wanted to do the roka … I said no. Anyway, it’s just a small family dinner with twenty people.’

‘Payal!’

I screamed so loudly that two passers-by turned to look at me. I lowered my voice.

‘How could you?’

‘Saket, don’t assume I’m on board with any of this. But Mom and Dad gave up food—’

I cut her short.

‘They manipulate you like this and—’

‘They ate nothing for four days, Saket. Mom fainted once. The doctor said she could’ve died.’

‘What are you even saying?’

‘Jain Paryushan is eight days of fasting. Mom and Dad said that if they ever find out I’m in touch with you, they’ll sit on an indefinite fast during the next Paryushan. They’ll keep going until death.’

‘What?’

‘I’m serious, Saket. They’re devout, practising Jains. They’re trained to bear a lot of suffering.’

‘And to manipulate you with it.’

‘I don’t know, Saket. But I can’t just run away and move to Bandra like this.’

‘Then convince them. Do something. You’re just toeing their line.’

‘No, I’m not. I’m calling you, aren’t I? Even though they made me swear I wouldn’t,’

‘Thanks for the big favour,’

I said, kicking an empty mineral-water bottle in frustration.

‘Don’t fight, please. I’m already stressed,’

Payal said.

‘Yeah, stress will spoil your make-up. You need to look good in front of your groom and your in-laws.’

‘Stop it, Saket, please.’

Payal started to weep.

‘Payal, please don’t cry,’ I said.

‘Then don’t say such hurtful things.’

‘Come see me. Now. Leave your phone at the parlour. Or I’ll come there.’

‘There’s traffic. It won’t work. I’ll have to go back before either of us can reach.’

‘Fine. Whatever.’

‘I’m sorry, Saket. I’ll try to see you soon.’

‘It’ll be even harder to convince your parents after this roka, you know that, right?’

‘It’s just a dinner. I won’t let them call it a roka. Please be patient, Saket. Let me see what can be done.’

‘If you say so …’

‘Okay, Mom’s calling. I have to go. Bye,’

she said, ending the call.

‘Bye. I love you,’

I said to a disconnected line.

‘Bro, where were you? I’m hanging out with plumbers here,’

Mudit said as I walked back into Janata Bar.

‘Sorry, Mudit. I had to speak to Payal. Where’s my drink?’

‘Here,’

Mudit said, topping my glass up with a lot of rum and a little bit of Coke.

I chugged it all down in one go.

‘Bro, easy,’

Mudit said.

‘This isn’t one of those protein shakes you have after the gym.’

‘One more,’ I said.

Shaking his head, Mudit made me another drink.

‘I’m guessing the call didn’t go well,’ he said.

‘I took your suggestion. Asked her to move in. I said, come to Bandra right now. Move into my apartment, and don’t leave, like ever. Told her I’ll handle the rest.’

‘Well done. That’s my brave best friend. What did she say?’

I told him the entire story about her parents going into full-on Anna Hazare hunger-strike mode.

‘Are they nuts?’

Mudit said, stuffing his mouth with a fistful of spicy peanuts.

‘Yeah. And tonight, Parimal and his extended family are visiting them. And some of Payal’s relatives too.’

‘What? It’s her freaking roka? Tonight? And you’re sitting here with carpenters and electricians, drinking Old Monk?’

‘Fuck,’

I said.

‘It’s a roka, right? That’s exactly what I told her.’

I knocked back another drink. The rum inside the Old Monk bottle had receded to a dangerously low level. I picked up a piece of the tandoori chicken and tore the meat off with my teeth.

‘Yeah, I’m not a Jain. So what? This is who I am. I drink rum and eat chicken. Make me another drink,’

I said to Mudit.

‘We can’t just sit here and drink away, bro. We have to do something,’

Mudit said.

‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know. You’re just going to let this roka happen? Because if it goes through, your game gets three levels harder.’

‘Exactly what I told her.’

I stared at my drink for a few seconds. Then I stood up.

‘What?’

Mudit said.

‘You’re right. We need to do something. Let’s go.’

‘Where?’

‘Ghatkopar, baby. Let’s take this party there,’

I said, taking a sip of the rum directly from the bottle.

The Uber driver took us to Riddhi-Siddhi Niwas in forty minutes.

A security guard stopped us at the entrance.

‘Who do you want to meet?’

Mudit rolled down his window.

‘My friend is here to meet his father-in-law. Any problem?’

‘What? Which apartment?’

the security guard said, raising an eyebrow as he noticed we were both piss drunk.

‘Anand Jain, fifth floor,’

I managed to say despite my inebriated state.

‘Your good name?’

the guard said.

‘Mudit and—’

Mudit began but I placed my hand over his mouth.

‘We’re Parimal Jain’s cousins. There’s a family gathering,’ I said.

‘That may be so, but what’s your name?’

the guard said.

‘We’re from Parimal Jain’s side. Tell them,’ I said.

‘I have to give one name.’

‘Mudit,’

Mudit said.

‘Mudit Saxena.’

The guard dialled the intercom in Payal’s apartment. A household help picked up the phone. The guard spoke to her for a few seconds. I thought our cover would be blown right there. Somehow, the maid fell for it. The guard ended the call and opened the gate.

We left the cab and took the elevator up to the fifth floor. Outside Payal’s apartment, there were nearly two dozen pairs of slippers lined up on both sides of the door. I rang the doorbell.

‘The door’s open,’

Anand Jain shouted from inside. A second later, he stood at the entrance. It took him a moment to recognize me.