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Word Count : 2340

Audio Theme - Tum Ho (Rockstar)

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03 | All That Glitters Is Not Gold

The white sheet on the mahogany table was filled with sophisticated cursive penmanship all in the hues of royal blue. Each corner of every English alphabet was penned with precision and just the right amount of pressure. He put the cap on the silver nib of his pen and inserted it into the pen stand next to his desktop. Numerous chart-papers with blueprints of various upcoming government buildings and sky-scrapers drawn with charcoal pencils were laid out on the table.

The hour hand struck to six, and the gleaming little bob reached its extreme as the ancient wall clock echoed its familiar old symphony. He adjusted his rimless glasses with the tip of his index finger as his eyes automatically averted to the sketch of the state of the art hospital building that was assigned to the company by the Ministry of Defence. It was a palliative care center that was to be built in attachment to the Military Hospital in Delhi Cantonment. Officers of all three services from the Northern Command visited the Dogra group's headquarters in the morning. It was a hectic day, and at the current moment, it felt as if his head would be blasting anytime now - a terrible migraine.

There was a major issue involved in this project.

Sighing, he arranged all the stationery items at their designated places, closed all the files, and kept the sketches in their folders.

A minute later, he was walking towards their room. They were back to his penthouse apartment at the Leela Sky Villas. The Dogra Manor was solely constructed by his ancestors for the head of the empire and his/her family, but he plumped for this apartment over that humongous manor lo and behold. The older Dogra couple, on the other hand, lived back in their palatial manor in Dehradun.

He could hear faint sounds of footsteps. The corner of his lips upturned languidly for a quarter of a second, and then they were back to normal. He pushed the silver door knob as it creaked, and entered the room.

And there she was, still clad in one of the cotton sarees she wore to her office every day, today its color being baby blue. Her hair, like always, were in a low and tight formal bun.

Something that he had noticed in the past two months of them getting acquainted with each other and the past fifteen days of their marriage was that she always wore her sarees in a way that not even a millimeter of her waist was visible to naked eyes. The blouses were also pretty conservative and modest in style with Chinese collars. Quite a few times, he had seen her wearing black or navy blue formal pants and coats with white or sky blue button-down shirts. In a sense, her clothes were always simple, formal, and exuded a dignified aura. Even at home, it would always be classic - a pair of cotton pants, short or knee length kurtas with elbow length sleeves and accompanying them would either be an authentic Pashmina shawl or a cotton dupatta completely wrapped around her shoulders, chest and neck area.

The only jewelry she wore before marriage were her kite-shaped gold studs. A black analog watch always adorned her left wrist as well. Now added to those studs were her nuptial chain and those red and white bangles - the Sankha-Pola - owing to her Odia lineage from her mother's side.

Currently, the five-foot-four something wife of his was un-clasping the straps of her Kolhapuri flats sitting on the diwan. Sensing his presence, she lifted her head and looked at him.

A graceful smile adorned her face.

The headache seemed to lessen down a bit.

"Good evening, sir."

"Good evening."

Her eyebrows formed a crease, perhaps sensing the dullness in his voice.

"Are you alright?"

"Uh... it's fine, I am okay."

The crease deepened further. She was clearly not convinced.

"It's okay to be not okay at times."

He sighed and focused on the small black bindi between her brows.

"I have a headache."

"Pretty bad, it seems?"

"Terrible."

She stood up, picked her flats with her right hand, and made a beeline to the closet on the right side of the bedroom.

He squinted his eyes in her direction for a few seconds and then settled down on the bed.

A minute later, she walked out of the closet in her classic pants, kurta, and dupatta combination.

"Where is Anirudh?"

She turned around to look at him.

"I took him along with me to the office today after you left for office. He was tired, currently sleeping in his nursery. Once he gets up, I'll feed him." She answered

"You are tired yourself Hinduja, you don't need to do all these things. Just your presence is enough for him. Geetanjali can do all his chores."

She, who was just about to cross the threshold of their room, turned around.

"No offense, Mr. Dogra, Geeta didi is a very good lady, but she isn't his mother, I am. So, feeding him, bathing him, patting him to sleep, taking him to the park, or, for that matter, any of his chores are not obligations for me but my rights as his mother. You should see how gleefully he laughs when I give him a bath? the smile he has when I take him around the park or while I am feeding him? It's priceless. It's worth the whole world. At his age, he might not even understand half of it, yet he calls me mamma, so let me be his mamma in true sense, let me do his chores Mr. Dogra, because when it comes to him, I can never be tired." She gently replied with a smile and turned around to leave.

He sat there, staring at the spot she stood up at, a few seconds back.

An unpleasant 'conversation' from the bygone years started playing in front of his eyes. It was this very room they had that ugly fight in.

That day, he understood the real limits of selfishness the human race could possess and its thorough lack of consideration.

Just how monstrously insensitive a living person can be.

For whoever said it was actually a wise man after all : All that glitters is not gold.

Now that he thinks about it, how can two people of the same species and same gender be so different?

For one, kids appeared in the same sentence as 'that ugly little thing', while for the other, they were attached with the phrase - 'precious little child'.

Shivalika was everything that he was not - vivacious, outgoing, and loud. That perhaps made his parents believe that she was a good choice for him, that they would balance each other, complement each other.

On the contrary, their married life was a complete antithesis of what people perceived it to be.

Shivalika was an exceptional businesswoman, a terrific jewelry designer, too, but she was never the right choice for him; not because she lacked something, but because, he was not the right choice for her too.

And he perhaps failed as well; he failed in ways that were unknown to others.

He was ruined in ways ....undisclosed to others.

"Mr. Dogra."

Her soft voice snapped him out of his reverie.

She was standing a foot away from him with a tray in her hands. Two porcelain tea cups with saucers underneath them and a plate with Good Day cookies, symmetrically arranged on the tray, hot steam emerging out of the cups.

"I generally prefer a cup of strong ginger tea over medicines for migraines. Would you like to have some?"

He smiled and stood up.

"Terrace or hall?" He asked.

"Terrace."

***

"What happened?"

"Huh?" He adjusted his specs and squinted his eyes in her direction.

"The wind flow is soft, the ambiance is pleasant, and I believe the tea I made is also pretty good. But, your brows are still slightly creased, you are wiggling your toes, and you have that far away look in your eyes. You are clearly not relaxed, so my question is what happened? Obviously, it's your choice if you are comfortable enough to answer my question."

He just gazed at her for the next thirty something seconds. She was not even looking at him. Her focus was on the design on the cup, tracing the curved lines of the pattern.

"The company is working on a new project from the past five months - a palliative care center building to be built in attachment to the military hospital of Northern Command envisioned by the CDS. Everything was functioning smoothly, the blueprints were also completely done, and then suddenly, an envoy of senior tri-service officials arrived today and said that the project might not have a future anymore."

[C.D.S - Chief of Defence Staff]

"Why?"

"Apparently, the District Magistrate of South-West District has sent a report to the higher-ups that the area next to the Military hospital on which the building was supposed to be built was illegally acquired by the Defense Ministry, submitting some false proofs about the land being under the ownership of a few local civil traders even though the land comes with in the Delhi cantonment area. The Defense Ministry completely dismissed the allegations against it, but from my personal resources, I came to know that the DM has instigated that entire group of traders to go on a hunger strike on that same land from tomorrow onwards, his motive behind it still undisclosed. We could have complained about him, but then, he is doing all this behind the scenes. Now, the main problem is that the construction work was supposed to begin the day after. Even the material is ready. So, now if they cease the project, the efforts of all our employees will be in vain. The DM is just not ready to sign the f*** . . ."

His eyes suddenly enlarged in realization. "I apologize; I just—."

"It's okay, continue." She smiled, focusing her eyes on him.

"So, basically, the DM is not signing the NOC."

[NOC - No Objection Certificate]

"Vaibhav Pathak can be a pain in the ass at times; I concur."

"You know him?"

"My super senior back from the days of university - an ideal case of 'all that glitters is not gold."

His neck might even have suffered a fracture at the speed with which he gyrated it around to look at her.

Were they in sync?

He had just thought about the same quote back in their bedroom.

"Appearances can often be deceptive, Dogra Sahib. Vaibhav Pathak just happens to be the best example of this proverb. That man has mastered the art of manipulation to the best of his abilities." She chuckled, taking another sip of the warm and creamy masala chai.

"You seem to have some bad blood against him."

"Professionally, no; personally, yes."

"I see." As much as he was curious, it didn't feel right to ask her about the matter. She might as well tell him later on if she feels comfortable enough with him because what they were discussing currently falls under his professional domain, while the matter regarding DM Vaibhav Pathak is related to her personal life, that too, from the years that have passed away.

"Pathak is instigating the traders to do a hunger strike. You have this piece of information even before the authorities do. Either you yourself have connections with the Hawala, or one of your associates or your informer does, Isn't it?"

His hands that were holding the cup lifting it towards his lips to take the last sip of the delicious ginger tea had ceased to move with an almost invisible jerk.

"Smart." He mouthed and continued his ceased movements, taking a sip of the tea.

"Nothing so astute about this. All these affairs---legal or illegal, whether I like them or not, are always under my information radar."

He hummed.

"Corporate wolves rarely desire assistance from outsiders , Dogra Sahib. I don't think that I, a civil servant, out of all people, needs to explain to you the centuries old drill?"

"What do you mean?" He snickered, already deducing what her next words would be.

"You know exactly what I mean. Lay the trap, lure the herd of sheep into the trap. The wolf shall itself walk to you to get slaughtered." She paused, taking a sip of the sweet and gingery concoction, "I guarantee you."

He chuckled and nodded his head.

"So, Hinduja Rao-Dogra knows how to infringe the statutes as well?" He asked, amused, air quoting the term 'infringe' with the index and middle fingers of his right hand while clutching the tea cup with his left hand.

"Only, I reiterate, only if the cause is righteous ." She asserted.

The simple act of him pronouncing her surname joining it with his own gave her a funny feeling in her stomach.

He on the other hand tried to gouge out any reaction out of her, pulling up that stunt a few seconds ago, yet, leaving aside that curve of her lips nothing else was apparent on her face.

He hummed.

"I believe that you will lead not only yourself but the authorities as well as your employees to come out of this issue."

"You do?" He asked.

"I do."

He looked around at the setting sun in the orangish-yellow horizon and took a bite of the buttery Good Day cookie his fingers held. The headache was long gone.

From the beginning of his career, this was the first time he had confided about his professional issues to someone.

It felt nice. It felt light.

He looked around at her. She arranged her dupatta properly around her chest, her thick black locks flowing in the air.

Averting his eyes towards the other side, he tried to hide the emerging smile, threatening to make an appearance on his face.

He seemed to smile a lot these days.

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