The Nidhi Kapoor Story (19 page)

“Where… where did you get it?” Nishant asked uncomfortably. He was surprised that the tapes were out there in the open. He had taken considerable pain to hide his collection of tapes in the study. He had made the secret locker with his own hands and he was very sure that he had hidden the key well. But someone had somehow found it and was now using the tapes against him and his family.

“That doesn’t matter. We need to decide. We either sell Ronak or wait for these tapes to hit television. What do you want Nishant?” Naveen Verma was clearly worried for Nidhi. She had signed a few big projects recently and a lot of money was riding on her. His own finance company had put in money on two of these films. There was no way he could let anything harm Nidhi’s reputation. Or her money. Or her prospects as an actress.

Nishant himself wasn’t going to part ways with Ronak. It was his most cherished possession. Apart from Nishant, Ronak was important to Nidhi as well. Every part of Ronak had some or the other memory of Neelima attached to it. Nidhi had grown up with Payal at Ronak and had spent all her life there. The two sisters shared a special bond with the place. There was this nook under the giant staircase where they’d hidden as kids. There was this wall that they had painted on while practicing for their sketching homework.
They had hosted their pool parties in the garden and pool. They had their favorite rooms and the corners that they had hated.

They had to make a decision. On one side was Ronak, the Kapoors’ identity and their home. And all the memories that they made over the years. On the other side, there was the risk of those incriminating tapes going public. It was like choosing the lesser of the two evils. The decision was going to be tough one.

“Nishant, you have to choose one. It’s either your family or your bungalow,” Verma was trying to talk rationally with Nishant. He wanted to rip Nishant’s heart out and kill him but he had a task cut out and needed to stay patient.

“My family died for me when they moved me to that mental asylum,” Nishant looked at Nidhi and Naveen, and then looked away.

“Papa! You can’t talk like that. We love you. We sent you there because the doctors said it would be good for you,” Payal was distraught.

Payal had a calming effect on Nishant. She was now the only one who Nishant would probably listen to. Verma and Nidhi had known this all along and after they had failed to coax him to sell Ronak, they had played the Payal card. They were initially reluctant to talk to Payal about the tapes, but they had to.

Nishant looked at her. He motioned her to come close. Payal walked to where Nishant was sitting. She sat on the floor next to Nishant’s wheelchair. Nishant started to stroke her head. His eyes became moist and a teardrop bubbled up near the corner of his eye.

∗∗∗

It was not easy but Nishant finally agreed to sell Ronak. Surprisingly, Payal recommended that they live in some other country. If not forever, then for some time till the clouds of trouble were beyond them.

Nishant liked the idea of relative anonymity. It would give him an opportunity to do things like normal people. He knew that he would miss the attention that he was used to, but for the time being his priority was to keep Payal safe and buy some time to think about things. Since moving back to Ronak he had resumed his thinking, reading and writing. The world had changed considerably in these seven years and he had a lot to catch up on.

There were times when he felt that someone was trying to attack him, but such premonitions were happening with lesser frequency at Ronak, compared to Moksha. There were times when he questioned his sanity but he knew that his mental health was perfect. Just that he had to identify that someone who was out there to hurt him. If he could catch hold of him and prove to the world that he was innocent, he could buy ten more Ronaks. He was Nishant Kapoor after all and he had defeated adversity so many times in the past.

∗∗∗

Meanwhile, Prakash and Rujuta were attending a post-wedding reception of a young constable. It had been
a hectic week since they first visited Ronak. Prakash had pushed his team hard to do the grunt work of collecting leads and rounding up their network of informers. After the fire, he was especially hard on his team. Thus, everyone was looking forward to the break. Prakash was the senior-most officer of his station and he had to attend the wedding and bless the couple. Rujuta consented because she thought she could get some photographs of the policemen when they are off-duty.

The party was being held at a community
maidan
near Sawantwadi near JVLR. Prakash was running late and while he was rushing in, the rhythmic dance of the decorative lights caught his attention. He turned left to look at it and did not stop walking. He bumped headfirst into a pillar. He stumbled and caught himself just in time to prevent a fall. Rujuta was standing there and laughed out loud at the awkward little dance that Prakash did as he tried to balance himself.

For the wedding, Rujuta had draped a blue and green traditional
Kasta Saree
. She tied her hair in a tight bun and ran a string of flowers through it. Though the nine-yard
saree
required perfect technique and practice to wear and demanded a certain grace to carry, Rujuta had aced it. Along with the
saree,
she had put a traditional red
bindi
and accessorized herself with necklace, earrings, bangles and a
kamarpatta
, a loose belt around the waist. Prakash was mesmerized at the elegance with which Rujuta conducted herself in the
saree
.

Tambe led a small welcoming party that was waiting for Prakash. When they saw him fumble, there were gasps
followed by chuckles. Prakash scratched his temple, smiled embarrassingly and went ahead to meet them. After accepting greetings of those present, when Prakash turned around to steal another glance at Rujuta, she was nowhere to be seen.

Prakash was not left alone for even a single minute that night. Since he was the highest-ranking officer at the wedding, he was treated like a celebrity. He was continually accosted by his juniors, newlyweds’ relatives, curious onlookers and nosy neighbors. He did not appreciate the attention but a wedding was no place to show his displeasure. It was, after all, someone else’s special day.

Despite getting mobbed for every minute that he was at the reception, his eyes kept searching for Rujuta. Every time he’d catch her shadow, her reflection, he could feel a yellow glow engulf him. And every time she moved out of his line of sight, he’d bask in the afterglow. When the glow would ebb, he would go back to his search for Rujuta. The cat and mouse game between Prakash’s gaze and Rujuta’s presence continued for some time. When he saw Rujuta being dragged into dance by some women, Prakash did not know if he was happy with it or sad. He was not possessive, yet he did not like the idea of her dancing with others. He couldn’t dance to save his life and yet he wanted to see her dance.

He smiled at his indecision and shrugged. He moved his attention to a corner where large blinding lights illuminated the otherwise dark corner to reveal a small raised platform. On it, bathed in the light was Rujuta, standing in the middle of a circle made by other women.
As if it were a well-orchestrated plan, the loudspeakers started blaring loud Lavani music and the women started swaying on the stage. Before Prakash could react, a strong wave swept him towards the stage. It was a group of his colleagues who had literally carried him onto the stage. The wave collided with the stage and broke into a mass of drunken men. Bodies were jammed tightly on the cramped stage and everyone seemed to have found their partner for the dance. Prakash looked around hoping to get a cue for the next move. When he could not spot an outlet, he moved towards the edge of the stage and he was suddenly face to face with Rujuta. Their eyes met and he was transfixed in the kohl-smeared eyes of Rujuta.

Rujuta took a step in his direction. She held his hand and guided it to her slender waist. Prakash placed it gingerly at first. He felt the soft, consistent curves on her waist, moist with humidity and sweat. His grip was awkward for a bit and eventually natural instincts took over. Without realizing, his rough palms found a crest to hold onto Rujuta. Rujuta slowly raised her arms over her head. Her smell intoxicated Prakash further. She was wearing Chanel Chance. Prakash could also make out distinct whiffs of clove and Jasmine flowers.

Rujuta closed her eyes and started to dance with Prakash. He held onto her waist and as music built up to a crescendo, the moves became more exaggerated. It became difficult for Prakash to retain his hold over her. He struggled to find his grip and ended up pressing her harder and bringing her closer. So close that he could notice the freckles on her young face. He could see that Rujuta was not wearing any makeup. She did not have to. He could see the part on
her forehead where her wheatish skin ended and black matt hair started to take roots. He could see the shape of her ears, the cavities in her ear and the two ear studs that Rujuta wore in each ear. One was sapphire and other was diamond. The studs glittered in the light and illuminated Prakash with their radiance.

Rujuta brought her hands down over Prakash’s bald head slowly and rested behind his neck. She could feel his harsh skin and the goosebumps that were just cropping up. She nudged her body close to his and she could feel his thigh muscles crush hers. She then tiptoed on her feet, stretched herself and brought her lips close to his. Before she could move any further, Prakash buried his face in Rujuta’s.

∗∗∗

Next day, Cushman and Wakefield, a leading real estate brokerage, released an advertisement in leading dailies. The advertisement said that an iconic house owned by one of the influential families of Bollywood was up for an urgent sale, available only to connoisseurs and genuine buyers.

They were immediately flooded with requests for details. After initial screening and extensive background research, Ronak was finally sold to an individual who chose not to reveal his identity. He merely issued a statement that he belonged to the film industry as well and he was buying because he could not see such an icon inhabited by some politician or a businessman. The deal was eventually closed in less than two days.

As if someone had known about the upcoming sale
and was waiting for it to happen.

∗∗∗

Payal shared the development with Nishant. “Papa, you heard about Ronak?”

He put up a brave front at first. “Yes. Who got it?” He was merely interested in a name. To him, money did not matter. He had enough to live happily for next seven lives.

“We don’t know as yet. We have till the end of the year to stay here and I don’t think the buyer is moving in before that.”

Nishant nodded and said prophetically, “If we are here till end of the year.”

With that, he started laughing. These bouts of laughter had become very common lately. Whenever Nishant said something serious, it was dismissed as a frivolous rant and whenever he cooked up imaginary things to get Payal to spend time with him, he was taken seriously. In his mind, he was treading a thin line between sanity and insanity. Even he was not sure if he was sane anymore. When it sunk in that they are actually selling Ronak, his will was defeated and he wanted to drop the idea of getting back at the world. Now he just wanted to live happily with Payal. And maybe Preeti. At Ronak. If only he could save Ronak. And if he could bring Preeti back from wherever she had gone.

Payal meanwhile was trying to get back his attention. “Papa, Papa? I have to go…”

Nishant realized that he was dreaming yet again. When he saw Payal, he was glad to have her around. He
looked at her, smiled affectionately and nodded.

∗∗∗

Rujuta slapped the paper on Prakash’s desk. “Did you see this? They sold Ronak. In just two days. What the fuck is going on? Did they take that CD so seriously? They didn’t even consult us before they sold it. I don’t like this at all, Prakash.”

Prakash nodded. “I know. I have asked my informers in the real estate industry to investigate everyone who has shown any fleeting interest in Ronak in last ten years. It could be a builder. Ronak is located at a prime residential space in the city after all. What if the entire thing is an elaborate plot to drive the Kapoors out of Ronak? Plus, thankfully, the papers still haven’t made the connections between the fire and the sale. I am not sure how long will it take for them to break it.”

Prakash had an envious network of informers and spies. Most of these spies had grown through the ranks and stature along with Prakash. Some contacts were passed onto him when he came to Mumbai and he had just cemented the relationship. The others, he had handpicked and invested time and money in grooming them.

“OK. Please let me know. I’d try to pick Payal and Naveen Verma’s brain about it,” Rujuta said.

Rujuta had used the last two days to bring Prakash up to speed about her interviews with Vicky Taluja and Payal and her investigation into the background of the Kapoors. After her meeting with Payal, she had spoken to Naveen Verma about the letter that Nishant had received. She had
made a neat report that also included a summary of her other meetings with older film stars to understand the complicated relationship between Nishant and Neelima.

The case seemed to be taking shape. They were nowhere close to a suspect or a motive but they sensed that something was terribly wrong at the Kapoors. They reckoned that with Ronak gone, the threats and coercions would probably stop.

However, they couldn’t be more wrong. They could not imagine what was to follow in the next few days. Something that would alter lives forever. Not just of the Kapoors, but of Prakash and Rujuta as well.

Book 4. Kaam

Kaam
^∗
is “…deep extensive desire, uncontrolled longing, concupiscence, sensuality or lasciviousness.”

^∗
Source:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kam

17. Day 9, Afternoon. Moksha.

Not long after Neelima died in a fire, Nishant Kapoor was found comatose at Ronak. He had mixed drugs, alcohol and anti-depressants in proportions that should’ve ensured that he wouldn’t survive the concoction. But he had outlived, outperformed and outsmarted his opponents and detractors for so long. A cocktail of drugs and pills was not going to kill him. He wasn’t that easy.