IPKKND FF: JALEBI by Jalebi Jane Thread 1: EPISODE 001-042 - Page 13

JALEBI by Maya (EPISODE 006)

IT IS FATAL TO HAVE music or poetry interrupted.* We all know that. But what we should also be aware of is that it is equally deadly to interrupt Arnav Singh Raizada when he is addressing his staff. For his empire is his god. And when he is tending to that altar, when he is instructing his disciples, when he is at the pulpit, interruption is invoking wrath.

Imagine this scene:

Our Heroine bursts into the room. She cries out, "Let me tell you something, Mr Raizada. The true measure of a man is one who----" Multiple heads turn towards her. A collective hush descends. Her eyes travel from eye to eye to finally connect with the deadliest set of eyes. Those very eyes which can hold one person transfixed or send another running from the room.

Khushi chose to do the latter.

"I'm so sorry," she mumbled and turned to leave. Her hand reaching for the door handle ready to shut it behind her as she made her escape.

"Stop," came his command.

She froze on the spot. But did not turn around.

"Don't be coy, Miss Gupta. Join us," he said, his voice betraying no single emotion, but conveying something, which she could not guess.

Khushi slowly faced him. I'm sorry to say, Sisters, but the Lioness of Lucknow was now nowhere to be seen.

"No-no-no, I'll come back when you're free, Sir," she said, attempting to retreat once again.

"Come forward," he said. At the same time, he left the desk and moved towards her. With each measured step he took forward, Khushi took a step back. But he made greater gains, and when he was only inches away from her, his arm lifted above his head.

Of course, she did not for one moment imagine that he was going to strike her, nevertheless her eyes widened and then shut as if she braced for a blow.

The blow came. It came in the form of his cool breath fanning her face; her lungs filled with the scent of his fresh cologne. And then----

----And then a thud.

Her eyes sprang open and she understood that he had lifted his arm, and leaned towards her, in order to shut the door. Their eyes met again and now held.

I am loathe to depend on cliches, Sisters, but I have to tell you that to our Heroine the room now contained only two people. And she was apparently one of them.

Arnav's attention moved slowly from her eyes, down her jawline----

----She drew her bottom lip into her mouth and bit it softly to steady it.

His eyes touched on that same lip, and remained there for...

Then his eyes returned to hers.

Khushi was breathing in the air he exhaled. And it was intoxicatingly heady. She felt----oh dear, she felt a bit faint, and she stepped back.

At that same moment, he stepped away. He moved towards the chair behind his desk. The other men----remember them?----moved aside to create an unobstructed path for him.

Arnav folded into his seat, steepled his fingers and leaned back. His gaze squarely on Khushi.

"You were saying----?" he asked. But he didn't allow her time to reply before he repeated her words, "the true measure of a man." He spoke the words with the same patronizing zeal she had. And hearing them in that tone made her heart flutter with panic. Why had she not knocked on the door? Why had she not first ascertained whether he was alone?

Why-oh-why did things always go awry with her?!

Her breathing escalated and she was sadly aware that her bosom lifted and fell most unbecomingly. And worse! She saw that his eyes dropped to her chest, but fortunately his gaze immediately shifted to the folder at the edge of his desk.

And with his eyes on the folder, he pronounced decisively, "I like it." Then turning to the men, he invited with a lifted brow, "Gentlemen? Comments?"

Of course, like us, they were too befuddled to dare a word. How does one comment on a riddle? However, amongst them was a fearless leader, who by pointed looks from the others was motivated to ask, "Sir? I don't follow. What do you like? Precisely.

"The Measure Of A Man," Arnav repeated, this time pronouncing the words as though it were the title of a novel. "Miss Gupta has----in her helpful though unconventional manner----provided you with a tagline for the menswear campaign." He picked up a piece of paper from the folder before him and said, "The Measure Of A Man' is a far superior title for our bespoke program than any of the ones you propose here." He extended the sheet to the marketing team-leader.

The man, with new clarity, reached for the list, and nodded in hearty agreement, "Oh yes! I like it. The Measure of A Man'. I like it very much, indeed."

This final like-it-very-much was directed towards Khushi with some more head-nodding, as he was not a man threatened when a superior idea originated from someone other than himself. Even when that Other was a Woman half his age.

Khushi could only look and stare.

She understood, of course, from the context of all this what Arnav had done. But she didn't know what to think, except to recognize that it was a good rescue on his part. A very good rescue which saved her from complete embarrassment. Partial embarrassment was a fait accompli when she had flown uninvited into the closed-door meeting spouting filmi nonsense.

But why? Why did he save her? This time she was not going to attribute any of his actions to kindness.

"Have Miss Gupta's idea conceptualized by next Tuesday. I want to see a composite of the catalogue and billboard proofs," Arnav stated to his team. And finished with, "you may leave now." As they filtered out of the room, he added, "not you, Miss Gupta. You may remain."

*Adapted from George Eliot's -Middlemarch-