Chapter 2: Headlines Today!
‘Ishana Khatri’s rowdiness put a man in the hospital.’
‘A gift from Ishana, five stitches on the head!’
‘Wonder what makes Ishana mad? SLUT!’
‘Dare to bare Ishana Khatri? She will SLUT shame you.’
And so many more headlines popped up on Ishana’s phone the next morning. She had been ignoring all newspapers, social media sites and television because she had expected this. But her PR head, Adil Menon, made sure she read them all. He was furious at her; he had been trying to repair her public image ever since she hired him, but this was beyond control.
“You need to put a leash on that temper of yours!” he had yelled at her last night. But she chose to ignore him. She knew he was right, but the word ‘slut’ always opened a rift between her actions and reasoning.
She glanced through his messages and, sighing she turned her phone off. She was just not in the mood. Such headlines were common in her world, but usually, she was not the one causing them. Adil always made sure she stayed within limits, but yesterday she had crossed them. She put a man in a hospital and was she feeling guilty? Well, guilt to her was a very subjective concept, and she always found ways to keep it out of her mind. She couldn’t even recall when last she felt guilty for anything she did! She had lost her conscience long ago.
She expected Adil’s knock on her door any minute, but a confrontation or a lecture was the last thing she wanted. She contemplated for a moment and decided where she could go. Going to the gym was not an option because media often mobbed her there. And she couldn’t go to the studio or the office; Adil would know immediately. She could go to some friends, but they would lecture her too! She wanted peace and quiet, and finally, she knew where she should go. Quickly changing into a simple yet stunning dress, she stepped out. She was still putting on her coat to avoid the December cold when numerous flashes blinded her in a second. As expected, paparazzi were surrounding her entrance. She retraced her steps. Damn! Why hadn’t she foreseen this? She cursed and turned towards another exit. The back gate of her building opened up in her neighbor’s backyard, but they didn’t mind it. They liked Ishana and allowed her to sneak out whenever the media hounded her. She did the same today as well, and upon reaching the road, she hailed a cab.
*
Ishana entered the most popular bar in Delhi. It was her favorite place, and it was not just because she fancied their cocktails, but because it was this place where the love of her life chose to propose to her. The memory was still fresh in her mind, and she came here every time she wanted to relive those good old days. An involuntary smile appeared on her face as she sat at the edge of the bar. Making herself comfortable, she looked around. It was 12 P.M. on a Tuesday, hence it was practically empty, thank God! She didn’t have the strength to fight off any more morons. The music that surrounded her was peaceful and soft. She concentrated on the tunes and recognized a popular song. Smiling, she scanned the bar to have her pick.
“Cosmo-Explosion please,” Ishana ordered, glancing down at the counter. The lights were dimmed, and the memory of his smile was flirting with her now. She relished it and it was immensely peaceful, but only for a few moments. Because next to her was a stack of daily newspapers and she found her own face smiling back at her. Yes, she was the headlines as Adil had predicted.
“I am a huge-huge fan, Ma’am,” the bartender chimed in with excitement. Ishana’s frown disappeared at her words. “Will you please sign this for me?” Autograph, selfies were very common requests for Ishana. She glanced at the bartender’s name-tag and obliged her with an autograph. Her name was Rumi. Rumi seemed new; and as Ishana looked down the counter, the entire staff was unfamiliar. Ishana was a regular here, but she had never seen them before. She assumed them to be tending on weekdays because she frequented on weekends.
With the news of last night’s events staring her in the face, an ominous feeling overpowered Ishana. Suddenly, she felt lonely and strange. A sense of nostalgia started to overwhelm her. ‘You don’t want to go down that wretched path,’ she scolded herself, controlling her emotions. Memories of the past were one thing she always shied away from because they tormented and anguished her. Yes, she loved him and often remembered him, but there were way too many dark spots in her history that she would rather erase.
Rumi placed a neat cocktail glass in front of her and smiled. The glass held a stunning red drink, with peeled lemon on the side. She sighed at the sight of the lemon; it was beautifully carved, just like her life – sliced from inside out. She looked up at Rumi to thank her, but Rumi was already busy making the next drink – by the mix of ingredients, it looked like a margarita. She amused herself by observing her. Rumi was a short yet beautiful girl in her early twenties. She had a small round face, short pixie hair, and a slim figure. She wore a white top and a black skirt. She was the only female employee at the counter, and the way other customers were eyeing the tiny bartender made Ishana uncomfortable. Ishana always wondered why men abused women by putting them in such positions - why did the bar owners felt that it was acceptable to flaunt a young girl to attract drunken bastards. Sighing, she looked around and found a few men staring. Maybe they recognized her, or perhaps they considered her as a ‘damsel in distress’. She didn’t care; all she wanted was her drink.
Ugh!
“Excuse me,” she called Rumi the moment she took the first sip.
“Yes, Ma’am,” Rumi rushed over excitedly.
“Umm…Can you tell me which brand this is?” Ishana pointed at the glass. What she drank was not the Cosmo-Explosion she had expected.
“Err…” Rumi looked around at the bottle she had just poured from. She was clearly an amateur.
“You gave me some cheap vodka?” Ishana was scoffing inside, but the look on Rumi’s face forced her to keep her tone leveled.
“No, Ma’am, it’s a branded vodka,” Rumi corrected with haste and pointed at the sparkling bottle on the counter.
“Just the same.” Ishana pushed the glass away. She was already in a foul mood and the poor vodka even worsened it. “No chance of Belvedere?” Ishana enquired about her favorite and usual vodka brand. Rumi just looked around vacantly. It was clear she wasn’t even aware of the brand. What bartender doesn’t know that? Ishana thought, sarcastically.
Ishana sighed as she started to get up, but Rumi whispered in a panicky tone, “Ma’am, please don’t complain. I am new and desperately need this job,” she gave a teary sideways glance; Ishana followed her gaze and saw a bulky man eyeing them cautiously.
“Fine,” Ishana hissed, pulling back her drink. She pulled a pack of cigarettes from her purse and lit one between her lips. “Well, if I have to drink this,” she murmured to herself and stepped to the smoking zone. Smoking always gave Ishana a unique kick. People smoked for tobacco, but she did it to kiss something she was not supposed to.
Ishana sat alone writhing in her misery for some time. She planned to drink the entire menu today, so she ordered Rumi to keep up the flow of assorted drinks in her direction, and Rumi indulged her. The moment Ishana finished her Cosmo-Explosion, Rumi arrived with Arctic Circle. She was about to gulp down her second drink and light her third cigarette when a man came and sat next to her.
“Sorry, Ma’am, can I bother you?” he requested. Annoyed with his boldness, Ishana blew her smoke in his face. To her, it meant ‘leave me alone’, but he just coughed and stayed put. Ishana looked at him. He was a young man in his late-twenties. He had an oval face and blue eyes. His hair was disheveled, and he seemed rather frantic and nervous. Ishana gazed at his face for a second and realized that he looked strikingly familiar.
Ignoring the nostalgic feeling creeping at the sight of his familiar face, Ishana barked, “Go and bother someone else.” She wanted to be alone. But he had been planning this for quite some time. He had been hounding her and stalking her for weeks now, and he knew very well that this was the one place she would end up after last night’s event.
“Ma’am, I am Ravi, a freelance writer, can you please spare some time for me?” he practically begged. It had taken him a lot of courage to muster up the strength to walk up to her. He was not going to give in so easily. She ignored him and pointed at Rumi for the next drink.
Rumi placed a sparkling white drink in front of Ishana and turned to take Ravi’s order. “Water, please,” his words made Ishana laugh. Water? Really? He blushed in embarrassment, and the moment Rumi arrived with his water, he gulped it down in one giant sip. He was extremely nervous; sitting across from her was like a dream come true moment for him. And not to mention he found her breathtakingly beautiful.
“Seriously?” Ishana demanded, pointing at his empty glass. He shrugged carelessly. “I was thirsty.” His tone and his words made her laugh harder. It had been really long since she had laughed heartily.
“Call me Ishana.” She offered him her hand. They shook; his hands were freezing and trembling. Ishana felt pity for the poor creature.
“Should we sit somewhere comfortable?” he offered as he glanced up and down the room.
“I am comfortable here.” Ishana smiled as she took another puff. He considered it for a moment and ordered himself a drink. “So, shall we start?” he requested.
“Start what?” she raised her eyebrows skeptically.
“Oh yes, sorry,” he slapped his forehead and chided himself.
His animated expressions made her realize why he looked so familiar. He reminded her of her brother. It made her smile.
“What’s your name again?” she demanded curiously.
“Ravi,” he confirmed. She stared at him for a second, “your full name?”
“Ravi Mehra,” his confidence made her heart drop. Maybe some expectations are meant to fail.
“What do you want?” she continued in a distasteful tone.
“Well, you are so popular – you are one of the top models in India today,” he blurted out something everybody knew. “And you own the biggest NGO in the country.” She nodded at his words. “Yet, everybody calls you a slut!” The last word pinched her; was he deliberately trying to irk her? Did he want her riled up again so that he could sell another story? “Sorry for saying it, but…” he paused at her threatening expressions.
“I know, continue,” she tried to stay calm but couldn’t avoid the edge that made its appearance in her voice.
“I don’t believe that you are a slut,” he added quickly. A rather questioning look appeared on Ishana’s face. He knew she doubted his intentions, so he clarified hastily, “I can’t believe that a woman like you, who runs an NGO for abused and harassed girls can be a slut!” His conclusion relaxed her.
“Thank you for your inference. People who call me a slut often ignore the good side of me; they just portray me in such light because that’s what they want from me. They project their desires, and when I deny fulfilling them, they just slut me!” Ishana smiled and placed a fresh cigarette between her lips. Ravi’s first instinct was to pull out the stick and throw it away, but he resisted.
Ishana was staring curiously at him; Ravi swallowed nervously and wiped his forehead. He was sweating in December; she considered him for a moment. Somehow she felt pity for him. “What do you want?” she popped the same question again, folding her legs on the chair. Ravi felt mesmerized with the stunning anklet around her left ankle. She raised her eyebrows as she followed his gaze. Ahem! Ishana cleared her throat, and he composed himself.
“I want to know your story. I want to know how you became what you are today. And why people tag you with such filth.” He was serious. There was a determination on his face.
“What does it matter to you?” Ishana probed him as she finished her another glass.
“I will tell you if you tell me your whole story first. I want to tell the world about the real you.” He was hopeful now.
“You think that you can corner me on a somber day and I will just blurt out my entire history to you?” Her tone was polite, but there was a stern look in her eyes.
“No, Ma’am, I just…” he started, but she cut him off. “What was your name again?” there was a fierceness in her voice that made him sweat. He wiped his forehead again.
“Ravi.” This time his name reminded her of something.
“It’s you who has been hounding me for weeks for an interview?” she demanded, raising her eyebrows.
He nodded. “A few weeks ago you agreed as well. I just couldn’t find the guts to approach you.”
“Why didn’t you start with that?” she argued, abashed.
“What?” He was shocked by the change in her tone.
“That you are the same stupid man who has been bothering me for weeks. I had been wondering where you disappeared suddenly.” She smiled.
“So you will tell me what made you today? I really want to tell the world!” he insisted in a begging tone.
“I don’t care what the world thinks of me, but because you remind me of my little brother and I promised you before, I will tell you my story.” Ishana beamed and pointed at Rumi.
A sudden hope rose in Ravi, but her next words shattered it in an instant. “Not today though,” she spoke with finality. His face fell. He wanted to ask ‘why,’ but she answered herself, “I am not allowed to speak to media without my PR. You see I often blurt out things that cause undesired headlines,” she sighed and took another puff.
“I swear I will not post anything without your consent. And to be honest I don’t want some cover story from you, I want your history; I meant it when I said that I want to know your truth,” the intensity in his tone made her feel as if there was something else; some other reason for which he was seeking this. She considered him for a moment, “you want to know my whole history?” she screwed her eyes sardonically. He nodded hastily. “There are patches in my past that nobody can digest,” she continued in a mysterious tone. It made him curious. “I want to know it all,” he insisted.
“No, you won’t be able to accept,” she dismissed him with a casual wave. He started begging literally. She had no idea how important this was to him.
After a lot of tantrums, she partially agreed. A victorious look appeared on his face but it disappeared with her next words, “but if you published anything atrocious, believe you me, you will regret that you ever met me.” Her threatening tone and look made him terrified. He reassured her, a lot, that whatever he would reveal to the world will be with her blessings and finally she decided to open up.
*
The moment she nodded, he sat alert and pulled out his phone. “Can I take a picture of you first? For the story,” he requested as he turned on the camera. Ishana looked curiously at his iPhone. Though she was a model, she always withdrew from cameras. He looked cute and innocent enough; she agreed. He quickly took a couple and showed her the best one. “If I may, you have the most beautiful eyes,” he complimented genuinely. He was going to save and cherish these pictures forever. She scanned her smiling face, in her stunning orange dress; she looked divine. His compliment made her gaze into her own eyes, and it was a mistake. They say eyes are the reflection of one’s soul; maybe that’s why she saw hollowness in her own. She had lost her soul long ago.
“Mind if I record the interview?” he spoke, putting his phone next to her, ready to press the ‘record’ button.
She agreed, solemnly. “To know my story you would need to accompany me to the year 2000. And for that, my friend, I would need a much stronger drink,” she answered as she looked up at Rumi, who was waiting for her next order.
But before Ishana could order, Ravi spoke, “Two double bourbons, on the rocks.”
“Neat!” Ishana corrected, and with a heavy, deep breath she closed her eyes and did something she always forbade herself to do. She recalled the worst year of her life.
When it all began!
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone