There were three of them, though they had seemed to me more in number, from the commotion they made. The one who had caught my eye from the outset was a small, sharp-faced girl in a blue kurta, with bright, black eyes that seemed to scrutinize without apology whatever they rested on. She was Alisha, a lawyer, who (Mihir explained) had just started her own practice and was “killing it already”. Hovering near her was a tall, extremely handsome young man, with leonine locks and a groomed stubble.
This was Gaurav, a freelance journalist, who (I was informed) was the author of a dashing new book on India’s economic reforms, and had a much-acclaimed column in a leading business and lifestyle magazine. I pretended I had heard of the book, and knew the magazine well, but being neither well-read, nor up on current affairs, I was already feeling out of place. Alisha was terribly pretty (the word “foxy” passed my mind) but under her gaze, I not only felt that she was out of my league, but I also felt discomfited and troubled for reasons that I could not explain at all.
The third stranger was a young man named Prabhat, who seemed to enjoy a special status in the group. He was teased by everyone about various little things, and listened to with a smile when he spoke, but, though indulged, he was not patronised. I gathered he was a sort of eccentric genius, who had written a novel before calculating there was no money in that business, and now played internet poker for a living and was rarely seen in the daytime when he slept.
He looked sleepy to me that morning too, though it was difficult to tell. His eyes, in any case, were half-shut and his straggly hair uncombed. His shirt was half unbuttoned and he reclined in his jeans, with a placid smile on his thin face.
“Which college did you go to, Dhruv?” asked Gaurav, casually. All of them, along with Mihir, had been to the same college in Delhi, and then abroad. But theirs were elite institutions, and mine decidedly not. I was perhaps too conscious of this as I answered, for Gaurav proceeded to grin and slap me on the back. “Calm down,” he said. “Nobody’s judging you, man.”
For some reason, I did not feel reassured. He had on a lopsided smile. From the sofa, Alisha was smiling too, her lips quivering with superior irony. I heard Anamika click her tongue and exclaim delightedly: “Poor thing!” Then, as I stood there, Mihir put his arm around me.
“Dhruv is a wonderful film-maker. Versova’s finest! He’s going to make waves. He was Ahishor’s right-hand man in Versova. You don’t mind me saying that, do you?…What do you mean it’s not true? He’s modest! Oh he’s great; I love Dhruv. Everyone loves him. He was also a good friend of Ruhi Khanna’s.”
Mihir suddenly turned grave. In the eyes that now turned to me, I spied (for the first time) a real curiosity. I was about to protest that this wasn’t really true either, that I only knew Ruhi in passing, but I stayed silent.
“What about the perpetrator?” came a sharp voice from the sofa. “Did you know him personally too?”
“You mean Pankaj Pande?” I asked. A frisson was speeding through me as Alisha stared. “I mean I knew him, but not well. Actually my ex-boss was a really good friend of his…Is a good friend, I guess. I don’t know at the moment.”
“And what was your opinion of Pankaj Pande?” she continued steadily.
“I mean, he seemed nice,” I extemporized. “He was thoughtful, very intelligent – obviously. I’m a fan of his work. A generous person; he took a lot of interest in me, for example, as a young guy starting out in films…I definitely didn’t expect such behaviour from him!”
“Where have I heard that line before?” A fixed smile had appeared on her face. She kept staring at me, while I wondered if more questions were coming.
“Did they find out why she did it?” I asked at last, whirling around, addressing nobody in particular. “Ruhi, I mean. Did she leave a note or something?”
In the silence that followed, I felt I had misspoken. “We’ll talk about that later,” said Mihir. “It’s a bit disturbing.”
“Who is your ex-boss?” asked Alisha suddenly. “The one you said was Pande’s friend.” I told her at once, but Jatin’s name did not seem to register, and she frowned and turned to Gaurav instead.
“Did you read the mail I sent you? The forward from Mihir?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he nodded, pursing his lips.
“But actually – this is what I love about Twitter!” said Alisha fervently. “It reveals people’s true colours!”
“What are you talking about?” I blurted out. My voice, even to my ears, was sounding louder than usual.
Her eyes flashed in my direction. “Are you on Twitter, Dhruv?”
“No,” I shook my head.
“Do get onto Twitter. You’ll understand more of what’s going on all around you. This is free advice, I know. But you will benefit.”
“Oh, thanks,” I nodded. My impertinence was quite spontaneous, for I had little control of my reactions. Alisha looked daggers at me, while I found myself concentrating on how pretty she was. But elsewhere in the room, Anamika was smiling. Soon I heard her calling my name, in a kindly way.
“Mihir made a compilation,” she explained, “of the worst abuses that Ruhi had to face on Twitter, when she came out with her allegations. It was really disgusting. It wasn’t just the bhakts talking this crap. I mean, there were lots of those obviously. But even other people who’re always acting all modern and pro-women and liberal.”
“Self-styled liberals,” said Gaurav, with a graceful laugh.
“That’s just what Ahishor is saying na,” she nodded. “Until liberals stop betraying each other, we can’t do anything to improve the rest of the country.”
“Where is Ahishor?” I asked at last. “Isn’t he here – in Delhi?”
“He’s missing him,” Mihir grinned delightedly. “See! It’s very touching. Yes, Dhruv. Ahishor is very much in Delhi. He’s gone to Ozymandias right now, to meet somebody extremely important…Oh! You don’t know Ozymandias? I’ll tell you about it later.”
That was the first time I had heard the name “Ozymandias”— the name that is now burned in my memory. It is difficult to believe, because I never visited the place, but even to the day that I write these words, I feel transported there without warning. I smell the rich leather and the wood-polish and the scent of the swimming pool, the chlorinated waters lapping in the dark, amidst the rumblings of conversation and the high, gay, girlish laughter that I can never get out of my head.
I had started to wonder what precisely Mihir had called me for, and why in the presence of these other people, when the discussion took another turn. It began with Alisha saying in a loud voice (I realised that it was her ordinary tone, though it was much louder than most people’s) that the Twitter trolls who had maligned Ruhi ought to be prosecuted for hate speech. Suddenly, I became aware of some movement out of the corner of my eye. Prabhat was disentangling himself.
Excerpted with permission from The Outraged: Times of Strife, Aditya Sudarshan, Rupa Publishing.
