Chapter 9

2 years ago

varshaoforange

@varshaoforange

Imlie froze. Had she heard Aryan correctly? Had he really said, ‘Don’t go back to him, Imlie’?

Imlie decided to confirm something she already knew, “What did you say?”

Aryan didn’t stutter, he didn’t pause, he answered, “You know exactly what I said. Do you really need me to repeat it?”

Imlie sighed, preparing herself for the scolding to begin, “Do you really think I am that weak? Am I that stupid in your eyes?” Her voice broke with the second question. It wasn’t the request that bothered Imlie, oddly enough, it was the fact that Aryan felt the need to make it in the first place. The request assumed she was even thinking about the prospect. His words presumed that Imlie was so desperate for love and belonging that she would give up her self-respect to a man who had not only not trusted her, but didn’t respect her either. Imlie was mortified that Aryan thought this low of her. She clicked the seatbelt loose and opened the door, hiding the tears that were welling up in her eyes.

Imlie’s questions had hit Aryan like a slap to the face, “Imlie, that’s not what I think. I just don’t want you to put your trust in someone—”

Imlie shot back, “I know you haven’t known me that long, but I have told you repeatedly that even if other people don’t trust my decisions or actions, I trust myself enough. I don’t need validation or advice from anyone, let alone someone who doesn’t even have the words trust or love in their vocabulary!”

She got out of the car and slammed the door shut, not looking back at Aryan as she headed to the office.

Aryan sat in the car, unable to move. Why did I say that? Stupid. Duffer. Imbecile. What the hell was I thinking? Saying that obviously would never have had the impact he wanted on Imlie. Telling that jungli to do anything regarding Aditya Kumar Tripathi always ended in disaster. Aryan put his head in his hands and fought the screams that were fighting to come to the surface. He had faith in Imlie. He knew he did. He knew she did exactly what she had just claimed: she always made the right decision for herself. But the issue was, she made the right decision based on the information she had in front of her at the time. She made the right decision only if it was the right decision for those she considered family. She made completely imbecilic decisions when it came to her family. She had run into a village head first that was overrun with terrorists just to save her precious Babusahib and her mother. She had given no regard to her life when Malini had almost killed her. Hell, the girl was even willing to risk her life for complete strangers, like she had with the other women in the brothel yesterday. If there was one thing Imlie from Pagdandia couldn’t stand, it was people questioning her faith in her family, her Pagandia, or her Sita Maiya. Aryan didn’t know how he would show Imlie that the Tripathis, and especially Aditya, didn’t deserve to be her family, but he had to figure it out. Before it was too late for her. Aryan had no idea what had happened to him since he’d met Imlie, before her he would never have spent this much time contemplating the feelings of someone other than his sister and mother. He sat up and tried to clear thoughts of Imlie from his mind. Grabbing his bag from the backseat, he opened the car door and walked into the office.

As he walked onto the floor of his office, he passed by Imlie’s desk. She was hard at work on something and didn’t look up for a second. She was definitely purposefully avoiding Aryan’s gaze. Aryan grumbled to himself, This is all because I didn’t make it to 10k on the treadmill today. If I had just kept running, today wouldn’t have been complete shit. He walked into his office and slammed the door shut. As he sat down behind his desk, he saw Imlie’s face again through the blinds, and angrily grabbed the remote to close them automatically. There was too much work to do today, he couldn’t spend all day thinking about that jungli and her stupid family.

After about twenty minutes of budget reports, the ambient chatter that always characterized journalists’ cubicles disappeared. Aryan stopped and looked up, it was surreal to be able to hear the quiet hum of his computer. What happened? Aryan wondered as he stood up to check for himself.

He opened the door to his office and he found his answer. Aditya Kumar Tripathi was standing a foot away from him, his his hand raised as he had been about to knock on Aryans’ cabin door.

Aditya looked taken aback for a moment but then he went back to a serious expression, a face that Aditya hoped would invite the least amount of unnecessary ridicule from Aryan Singh Rathore. Aditya hated this man, more than he’d hated anyone in his whole life. For Aditya, this man was worse than Pranav and Anu Chaturvedi combined. He was calculating, cruel, and downright mean. Most of all, Aditya hated the way Aryan Singh Rathore looked at Imlie. Sometimes Aryan looked at her as if he would eat her alive, other times it was clear longing. Aditya found neither gaze acceptable, especially since Aryan constantly claimed he didn’t see Imlie as anything other than an employee, not even a friend. Aditya had eavesdropped on many conversations between Imlie and Aryan over the past month, and Aryan was like a tape recorder that’s stuck with the phrase, “Hum dost nahin hain, Imlie.” (We are not friends, Imlie). Aditya knew he had made a mistake listening to Malini these past few months. He knew he had hurt Imlie. But what he couldn’t understand was how to make Imlie come back to him. Nor had he figured out why Imlie regarded Aryan Singh Rathore as a friend. He also had no clue why Aryan seemed to hate him so much. But, if he wanted Imlie back, if he wanted to be regarded as an important and successful journalist, he needed his job back. He’d have to beg the man he hated for something Aditya knew he deserved. Aditya had given ten years of his life to this newspaper, even Aryan Singh Rathore would appreciate and value that loyalty. If Aryan had any brains, that is. A sensible businessman wouldn’t let Aditya leave their paper, because Aditya knew he had the skills and the perspective that readers across the city ached for.

Aryan knew. He knew exactly what was going through Aditya Kumar Tripathi’s brain right now. This imbecile is going to beg for his job, because he thinks it’s the only way to get Imlie back, and because he’s such an egomaniac he thinks I can’t run this paper without a journalist like him. Aryan ran through the options he had before him quickly before this insipid man in front of him could open his mouth. I can give him his original position, and risk him getting back in Imlie’s good graces. But, if I don’t give him his original job back, Imlie might assume I’m doing it only to keep her away from him. If I give him the job, it might give Imlie more opportunity to actually see Aditya for the egomaniac that he is. Or I could give him a position in some other section of the paper, but even that might rub Imlie the wrong way…Crap, why the hell was he making a business decision on the basis of what Imlie would think of it?

Aryan spoke before Aditya could open his mouth, “Mr. Tripathi, you want your old position back. Not the position in obituary writing, but your original position on the news desk. I can give it to you, but under one condition.”

Aditya was taken aback yet again, he paused and mulled over Aryan’s words, “What is the condition? I was ready to take any position, but if you have a ridiculous condition like staying away from—”

Aryan put up his hand and stopped Aditya from speaking further, he was keenly aware that everyone on the floor, including Imlie, was hanging on to every word uttered by the two of them. “Mr. Tripathi,” Aryan muttered under his breath, with just a hint of anger and annoyance, “can you please stay professional for two goddamn minutes in my office?”

In a louder voice Aryan added, “My condition is that I will have final say on what you report, when you report it, and what your final pieces look like. I can’t have you running off to another dangerous city and get kidnapped by a terrorist again. It’s frankly embarrassing to the institution, and honestly too much goddamn paperwork. Manzoor hai, ya nahi?” (Do you approve, or not?)

Aditya thought for a second, and he decided to fight Aryan on it, because maybe his words would reach Imlie, “Mr. Rathore, journalists are supposed to be trusted, to be given enough independence to cultivate their sources and share their voice with the readers. I have proven over my ten years at Bhaskar Times that I can—”

Aryan interrupted again, “I knew it. I knew this would become all about you and this is why I have my condition. Mr. Tripathi, no matter how sure you are that you shit rainbows and unicorns, this paper is a team effort. From the people working at the presses all the way to the fact-checkers in the business section, the paper is incomplete without everyone putting in their best efforts. If these people only thought about themselves and their achievements, they would completely lose the big picture. Stop being some imbecilic lone wolf, and become a team player. I have looked over your years of experience, Mr. Tripathi, and though you’ve been on the front page with dozens of excellent stories, your peer evaluations and anonymous reviews from coworkers and your editors haven’t been stellar when it comes to your behavior in the workplace. You’re consistently belittling of people who have a differing opinion on coverage, you don’t actually mentor, in fact I read a review by a worker a year ago, anonymous to me of course, that you insisted her idea to cover the corruption of a certain businessman instead of the man’s sexual assault was ‘pathetic and weak,’ even though she told you that the victim did not want to come forward and was dealing with death threats at the time. Mr. Tripathi I know you think sunlight is the best disinfectant, but what’s key in this business, from what I’ve learnt, is the timing and framing of a story, not just the so-called truth. If you don’t think you can work under me as the final ‘editor’ of your work, then go find a job at another newspaper, I’ll make sure to write an excellent reference.”

Aditya was dumfounded and greatly insulted. He wanted to argue, but he could feel everyone’s eyes on Aryan and him now. Surely Imlie was listening too, he couldn’t come off as stubborn and uncooperative now, especially not to her. “Fine, Mr. Rathore, I accept your condition.”

Aryan pulled out his phone to check his messages and without giving Aditya a second glance he said, “Great, go meet HR and I’ll send an email shortly with your next assignments for the week. If you have a pitch of your own, remember to send it to me as well as the main national news editor.” WIth that Aryan closed his office door in Aditya’s face and smiled to himself. Aditya Kumar Tripathi wouldn’t last a week under this condition. Aryan was a consummate professional, even though he knew that Aditya hated doing interviews with Bollywood actors and actresses, Aryan really thought giving Aditya the interview was the best idea. A smarter reporter would have seen it as an opportunity to grow their readership, but not Aditya and his giant ego, Aryan thought, the two of them saw anything but a flashy cover story on corruption or a boring one on the minutes of the Lot Sabha as an affront to their honor. What an imbecile.

Aryan went back to his desk and opened the blinds, instinctively checking on Imlie from behind his monitor. She didn’t seem to have been affected by Aditya coming to the office. But Aditya would definitely come and try to talk to her, it was guaranteed. He’d have to give her an assignment to prevent that, at least for today.