The Bestseller She Wrote (5 page)

‘You TRIED to make up with him,’ Sunaina corrected. ‘We will know soon if he also let go and made up with you.’

Shreya rolled her eyes and went back to the paper with the interview questions.

‘Well,’ she said, looking up from the sheet in her hand, ‘it is not without reason that I’ve made up with him.’

9

A
DITYA WAS BUSY
packing for his Bengaluru trip.

‘Suit, check. Three shirts, check. Two ties, check. Undergarments, check. Socks, check. Shaving kit, will be packed tomorrow morning after my shower. iPhone charger, check.’

Maya observed him from the corner of her eyes as he strode up to the mirror and looked at himself. He patted his belly, proud that even at this age he had washboard abs. He pulled his cheeks down and examined his eyes. They looked perfect. The eyebrows were groomed well. He then ran his fingers through his hair and stopped. Ruffling them, he let go of all but a single strand. Then he repeated the action, this time holding on to another strand of hair. This went on for a few minutes. The growing concentration of white hair on his head was beginning to worry him.

Maya watched him for some time and then asked, ‘Is everything okay?’

‘Why?’

‘Your increasing obsession with your looks worries me.’

‘I am an author, baby. I have to look good,’ Aditya said. ‘Don’t you think so?’

Maya nodded, ‘Yes, you have to. And you do.’

‘This white hair . . . Have you seen it?’ He held a strand up for her to see. Scissors in hand, he cut it off and threw it down on the floor. Maya glared at him.

‘Oops! Sorry,’ he said.

‘It is okay. You look good,’ Maya said reassuringly. ‘Salt and pepper is in.’ When Aditya didn’t seem convinced, she added, ‘A mature look works for a writer.’

Aditya smiled. Maya always made him feel good—about himself, about everything. He hugged her.

‘Haven’t seen you so excited about travelling in a long, long time. Is it the placement interviews?’

‘No, babes. It’s the book event tomorrow. Watch out for me in the Bengaluru newspapers later this week.’

Maya smiled. She knew how much Aditya loved all the attention that sections of the media showered on him. For Aditya writing was not about money. Yes, the money he made from his books rivalled his salary. It is said that in the world of publishing, you don’t make money unless you are a bestselling author and Aditya was a bestselling author by a mile. 15 per cent of his publisher’s turnover could be attributed to Aditya’s books alone. Such was the scale of his success. Yet, he was not in it for money. He was in it for the fame. People in India normally don’t mob authors when they see them in public. But Aditya was different. He was besieged wherever he went.

He was more like a film star than an author, and he loved it.

10

T
HE EVENT STARTED
at 6.30 pm, half an hour behind schedule. There were over sixty people in the room, packed like sardines in a jar. Vani Mahesh introduced Aditya Kapoor to the readers and referred to him as
mannina maga
—son of the soil—referring to the fact that he had been born in the city. Never mind the fact that the only real connection Aditya had with Bengaluru was the two years that he spent there during his post graduation. Otherwise most of his life prior to his MBA had been spent in the industrial town of Ludhiana.

After a brief intro, Vani let him take over. Aditya’s monologue, which lasted for over 45 minutes, was well received. A few photographers present at the venue were happily clicking away. The media-savvy Aditya tried to give them the best angles and adequate opportunity to capture a good picture of him, while he was speaking.

Soon the Q&A began and the routine questions were brought out.

How many times were you rejected before you got your first book published?

How important is marketing for you?

Has your profile as a banker helped you in your career as an author?

Banking or writing?

Will you ever give up banking to pursue a career in writing?

They never deviated from these questions, did they?

Finally when Vani got up and announced that they only had time left for one last question, a number of hands went up.

The last question over, it was time for the customary book signing and photographs. Aditya patiently signed the books and posed for selfies. In the end, there were six people left in the room. Aditya, Vani Mahesh, the press photographer, two employees of EasyLib and a reader. The reader, who was waiting for the crowd to disperse, walked up to him and gave him a copy to sign.

Aditya looked at her and smiled. The reader was the one who had asked him the last question. ‘That was a smart question,’ he said, coolly, even as he took the book from her, signed it with a flourish and returned it. Instinctively she opened it and looked at the message that Aditya had written for her, and smiled.

‘Dear Shreya, I will never forget 22nd November . . . Aditya Kapoor.’

‘You remembered my name?’

‘Not many people hold the distinction of embarrassing me in a public forum,’ he smiled.

‘And the date too!’ she exclaimed. ‘Wow! How on earth do you remember the date?’

‘I seldom forget dates, young lady.’ He was not boasting. Be it birthdays, names of family members of colleagues, important days in their lives, he remembered everything. It was a skill he possessed that helped him give a personal touch to his interaction with people, which often made his team members feel special.

‘Very impressive,’ Shreya said and hastily added an apology. ‘I am so sorry. Really, I am sorry. It was just an impulsive reaction that day. I didn’t intend to sound so belligerent.’

Aditya smiled and patted her arm. ‘Just kidding. You have a knack for asking intelligent questions. Don’t change.’

‘So sorry to interrupt the conversation,’ Vani butted in, ‘but before the photographer packs up, we wanted to take some pics with you, Aditya. The press photographers are also waiting.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Aditya said, ever willing to pose for the media. The entire team of EasyLib posed for pictures. ‘This will go up on Facebook tonight,’ Vani announced proudly.

‘Come, Shreya, join us,’ Aditya called out to her. Shreya happily joined in and posed for some pictures. She even took some selfies with Aditya. After thanking him, she apologised once again and took her leave.

Aditya’s eyes followed her all the way through till she turned into the corridor at the far end and exited the hall.

11

T
WENTY MINUTES AND
a
masala dosa
later, Aditya left EasyLib. His car had just moved 50 metres ahead when he saw Shreya standing on the left, waiting. He instructed the driver to stop and got off the car.

‘Waiting for someone?’

Shreya smiled and nodded her head. ‘Autorickshaw,’ she said. ‘It’s always difficult to get an autorickshaw to go to the IIM-B campus at this time of the night.’

‘No problem. I can drop you. I’m going there myself. Staying at the Executive Block tonight,’ he told her. ‘Let’s go.’

After some hesitation, Shreya got into his car. She seemed nervous.

‘Is it okay if I get into the back seat, or do you want me to sit in the front?’ Aditya asked in jest. Shreya smiled, but didn’t respond. She was too overawed. Her heart was beating fast. She was sure that her pulse rate had doubled. Over the last few months she had read and re-read all his books. And here he was, a couple of feet from her, breathing the same air. Wait till she told all her friends. She would be mobbed with questions. When she had declared her intent back in the hostel room that she was going to meet Aditya, there were many who wanted to accompany her. But no one had the courage to leave their placement interviews and come. She had prioritised him over her interviews despite Sunaina’s vehement objections.

‘How are the placements going?’ Aditya started the conversation, snapping her back into reality.

‘Today was the first day, sir.’

‘Aditya please, not sir. “Sir” makes me feel too old,’ Aditya smiled.

‘Three companies had their placement interviews today,’ Shreya continued.

‘And how many got placed?’

‘Not sure, sir.’

‘How come? Not keeping track?’

‘I will get to know, sir . . .’ Shreya stopped mid-sentence and laughed as Aditya play-acted anger. ‘Okay, okay. Aditya it is. The interviews are currently on. My phone battery died,’ she said pointing to her phone. ‘So I can’t even call and enquire about the fate of my friends.’

‘You didn’t attend the interviews?’ Aditya looked at her as if she was from some other planet. ‘Why?’

‘Because it clashed with your session,’ Shreya shrugged.

‘Wha . . . aat?’ Aditya was stunned. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me!’ His eyes nearly popped out in disbelief. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Missing the first day of placement interviews was unheard of in management institutes.

Shreya looked at him, amused. He looked so fresh, even after a long day. ‘I wanted to come to your event,’ she said at last.

‘You left your day-zero companies just to come for my event?’ Aditya had still not come to terms with it.

‘Yup,’ she said. ‘Feeling sorry for me?’ She was grinning.

‘I am flattered. But it is extremely stupid of you to have done that. You are smart enough to get into any day-zero company. You can’t be playing with your career like this.’

Shreya kept smiling. ‘Life is all about choices you make, isn’t it? I made one. Why regret it?’ She turned her gaze towards the horrendous traffic that snailed on the roads of Bengaluru.

Aditya observed her closely. Her hair beautifully cascaded down her shoulders, comfortably resting on her upper back. Dark brown, they were the colour that sand is just before sunset turns to night.

Today, sitting in the back seat of his car, he couldn’t help noticing how attractive she looked. Regulation denim that fitted her well, a maroon top with earrings to match; her dress sense was simple yet elegant. She looked like someone who took good care of herself. Her toned arms, slim figure and upright posture had him unwittingly thinking of what was under that maroon top. Aditya quickly checked himself.

‘You came to my event. I thank you for that,’ he declared. His right hand went up to his chest and he bowed his head in an expression of gratitude. ‘But what made you miss your placement interviews? It has got to be more than just ME.’

‘No really, it was you!’ Shreya blurted and then hastened to clarify. ‘That night when I read your book, it wouldn’t let me sleep. The way you described the emotional turmoil the killer in the book goes through, made me cry. It felt as if I was living the lives of the characters through your book. That’s the level of association it created. And when you killed your key character, I sobbed. I have never cried on reading a book before. You are the best storyteller in contemporary India. I felt that I had to see you. It was more important than anything else.’

Aditya was confused. He had always held that authors do not have fans. They have readers. But this girl was turning that logic on its head. She was behaving like a smitten fan. She was also probably his prettiest fan. Aditya felt a gush of luck and happiness.

‘You know, Aditya, someone once said, books make sense of life. The only problem is that the lives they make sense of are other people’s lives, never your own . . .’

‘Julian Barnes.’

‘Excuse me?’ Shreya made a face.

‘Julian Barnes said that.’

‘Oh is that so? The point is, when I read your book, it made me feel that I was the protagonist as well as the antagonist. I was not reading the story. I was living it. And that feeling has never come to me while reading Indian authors—at least the few that I have read.’ She gave him a thumbs up. When her hand returned to rest on the back seat of the car, it accidentally brushed against his palm. It sent a shiver down his spine. On an impulse he pulled his hand back and immediately felt stupid when he realised that she noticed his action.

‘And what was that about the . . . spouse of the author?’ he hesitated. At the EasyLib session, Shreya had asked him whether the spouse of the writer had a wretched life, because of the purported solitary life that writers lead. ‘Are you . . . Is your boyfriend a writer . . . as in . . . are you in a relationship . . . with . . .’

‘Haha!’ Shreya burst out laughing. It sounded like music to Aditya’s ears. ‘Oh no, not at all. I don’t even have a boyfriend. For the last one year, all that I have focused on is the Chairman’s gold medal. I wanted to prove to the world that people with a small-town background can achieve big too.’

‘Aaah . . .’ Aditya nodded his head as if Shreya had made an all important disclosure. He felt relieved at the fact that Shreya didn’t have a boyfriend. However he quickly realised that he was making it too obvious and in a bid to cover up, said, ‘Small town?’

‘Raipur. I was brought up in Raipur. My father worked with the government of Madhya Pradesh in the Anti-Maoist cell.’