Chapter 3 | Fashion Show: Part 2/3
"Sir pohunch gaye hum log" his driver informed.
Arnav jerked out of his trance of thoughts, vaguely remembering entering the gates of the property and passing the long drive to the Mahal. The state of the once prim and maintained glory of it all.
He nodded in reply and asked the driver to fetch his PA who was supposed to be at the location already.
He could have probably called her himself on phone but he wanted to be left alone for a few minutes before he had to face the world outside again.
Arnav used that moment of privacy to calm his heart beat and quiet his head. If he was not wrong then he was on the verge another panic attack aka losing his sh*t. He took a deep breath and closed his fists, focusing his attention on keeping himself tethered to the moment.
He was finally here.
After fifteen years, he was f*cking finally here.
He wasn't entirely sure why this was affecting him so much today even though it was long planned that the event would be held in the guest house of the Mahal.
It was planned so after the his PR team proposed to reveal his ancestral background during the fashion show event, they suggested that the best way to do that would be at the place of his old ancestral home. So, the fashion show was being held at the Shastri Nivas Guest House at Sheesh Mahal after his events team managed to get renting licenses for it by some form of miracle. He was genuinely surprised when they informed him of this unlikely arrangements being made possible.
He was sweating profusely as he sat his face buried in his hands, rubbing it vigorously in a bid to pull himself together and then finished by smoothing his hair back. After another deep intake of breath to stabilize himself, he was somewhere near-ready to get out.
It was one thing to have to reveal such a personal information at national level but a whole different thing to have to do that at the location that holds a dark history of childhood trauma for him, to say the least. Arnav couldn't believe that he actually had only okayed this proposition. He hadn't shared this with anyone at home, however they are bound to find out when they will be checking in for their flights tonight. He was already dreading his Di's lecture on his choices. His eyes immediately rolled at the thought.
Another deep breath and finally he allowed himself to look out of the car's window. The main entrance foyer loomed.
"You called?" Shreya Mathur's face obstructed the view.
Shreya almost laughed when his team was reporting about the rumours of him dating his Personal Assistant. The woman couldn't be more disinterested in him even if he tried given how she was happily married to her childhood sweetheart for eight years.
"Yes" he replied partially relieved at the divergence of his attention. "I need all the deets of this deal. Anything new that I should know?" he asked getting out of his car - a custom-made Aston Martin to allow an extra passenger seating space at the back.
Perhaps he didn't need to but he wanted to make an entrance. He had been presented with a rare opportunity, he had to make the most of it. He probably could have let it go and not pursue this offer.
But it was vital to him that he attend this urgent errand/meeting during this trip itself before he commenced with the pre-show promotional and press events. The errand was a purchase. Of a real estate property. His Ancestral home. Sheesh Mahal.
Inspite of the risk he would be taking to temporarily shift his attention from this company's market repositioning, at such a crucial time, he couldn’t avoid putting off the task for until after the show had finished, as the property was up for sale for only a miniscule period of time.
And Arnav, whose entire life’s purpose was built on the drive of taking back what was supposed to be rightfully his just so he could destroy his uncle and avenge his parents’ death, found himself unable to let this opportunity pass.
His past had turned what once was his passion for fashion design into a drive for winning a race to prove himself, make something of himself and show it....show it to his wretched uncle, how small he is with his treachery and greed.
He wasn't sure how his success would affect his uncle but he wanted to rub it in his face by snatching back what was supposed to be his - by the will of his father and other legal rights. And to punish his uncle for what he did to his parents, for what he took away from him and his Di - not Arnav's right of inheritance, but his family. His mom's happiness. His parents' marital bliss - however problematic Arnav may have felt it to be.
All he knew was that one way or another he just...he just wanted him to feel the hurt that he had caused.
Arnav thought he was over it during the lockdown when he had spent his first ever abundance of free time in reflecting and healing. He had gone back to his old therapist to share and sort these thoughts that had been brewing over a decade. Unsurprisingly, he had been advised against attempting to such compulsions that were coming from a place of revenge and grudge. And Arnav had worked on it as sincerely as he could to heal himself.
Eventually, he thought he had made peace with it all somehow, and that the best way he could respond to the betrayal would be to let karma take over.
This was easy to do, as by that point, the Malik Industries had all but disspitated. He and his Di's had sold their shares no sooner than they had left their home. Arnav had learnt from his widely entrenched sources that the gambling ways of his uncle had remain unchanged and any of what wealth was remaining after the downfall of his father's snatched company was also lost in payment of debts.
Word has it that he had exhausted the entirety of his inheritance money that he had snatched from him and Di, in trying to pay off these debts.
His uncle and his habits of self-sabotage did his job on it's own. He had drowned himself in so much debt that managing living expenses had become difficult. The entire staff had been cut off, the security had been reduced to a mere handful of guards and the property had turned into shambles due to lack of any maintenance and repair work over a decade.
Arnav almost pitied the man and the life he had reduced himself to.
Thankfully, for Arnav and his maternal family, his Di and Jeeja Ji had the good sense to make their Chacha Ji sign that contract as it had kept him and his mafia lenders away from transferring those debt records to them.
It was what had forced his high and mighty uncle to put their ancestral home on sale in the first place.
If Arnav hadn't been monitoring his moves so meticulously, he would have missed this news of sale. It was dropped the day after he had his agents get renting license of Sheesh Mahal's Guest house: Shastri Nivas. The timing of it was a little suspicous for sure. Like he wanted the sale to be over before the Fashion Show had begun. His uncle seemed to have gone through great efforts to hush the knowledge of this sale and keep it to a very small elite group of circles.
This didn't sit well with Arnav. Something in his attempt at secrecy triggered the sense of betrayal he had felt over the years.
The anger, the hurt and agonizing periods of grief he had felt.
The struggles he had faced in overcoming his parent's untimely death and the humilation of getting kicked out of his own home by his own blood.
The causation and cruelty of it all.
The selfish greed driving it.
It all kept washin over him, day-in and day-out until he could feel nothng else but the burning urge to acquire the property.
He probably would have managed to reign it in and ignore the slight he felt at his uncle's attempt to keep the sale of his parent's estate a secret if it were not for the toll his work had taken over him.
His anxiety and tiredness from the responsibilities he had taken over coupled with the dread of having to reveal his royal background and the daunting prospect of having to deal with the potential criticism and the speculations he might have to face because of it. He probably was on the verge of burn out from all stress he had been taking with all that multi-tasking but in that moment, he couldn't get himself to care about the possible risks he would be taking to shift his attention - however momentary - to this purchase.
He got his best agents to pose as proxy buyers for him to get the purchase done. He had ensured to keep his identity anonymous while making the transaction. The deal was completed 30 minutes ago, while he was on his way here from the airport.
He was scheduled to meet his uncle now as a formality to reveal his identitiy. Arnav wondered what he would make of it, to see his nephew steal back what was rightfully his in the first place.
As his personal assistant relayed all that went during the deal while he walked up to the room of his meeting. His uncle's realtor intercepted him on the way updating him that his uncle is momentarily occupied with an unexpected call and meanwhile has offered to let him see the property until he could join him.
Arnav toured around the space, a heavy feeling of nostalgia settling in his gut.
The reports didn't exaggerate how the palace had lost its sophistication, grandeur and charm. Stained and torn carpets, faded curtains, weathered furninshings of furniture, dusty paintings, cracked wallpapers, faded guild from the crown mouldings. Atleast the chandeliers were intact albeit the thick dust settled on them. The lamps were also still intact on the walls, without their covers.
The estate appeared so forlone and gloomy that Arnav felt a pang, a sort of longing hit deep in his chest. He didn't realize it at the time of leaving, how much he was losing by being forced out of his own home. Not just the sense of shelter and identity but the legacy of memories it represented of the times spent as one big united family however dysfunctional it might have been. The times they had spent - good or bad. He stood in the courtyard adjoining the guest wing, staring upward at the second floor, the door....his eyes stung at the sight of the large door with an archway...to his parents' sleeping chambers.
A decade and a half had passed since then, yet why did it feel like it had all happened just yesterday.
A heaving pressure was starting to build up from somwhere deep within his chest. Tears threatening to spill as he stared and stared at that goddamn door. He had been too shocked to feel anything that day, too stunned and helpless to even move.
It wasn't easy getting over the frustrations and resentment that comes with such instances.
Your mental state being so jolted that it paralysed any cognitive function or physical movement and you remain suspended in this state of indecision uanable to figure out what to do about anything that was supposed to be your reality.
The embarrassment and the feelings of guilt and failure that keep around you even after you have recovered from it.
The sense of failure that gets embedded in your system.
The need to control everything around you to ensure you never fall back into the same state again.
It was why he couldn't be allow his Di to take care of him or why he couldn't share what he was going through even if it rendered him in a state of executive dysfunction while he was at the university.
He had nearly lost his scholarship at Harvard if his Di hadn't sensed that something was gravely wrong with him. He hadn't been able to sleep for more than 30 minutes for the six months following his parents' passing. His sister and brother-in-law had pulled some strings as alumni and managed to get him a proper sabbatical saving his student record.
"It's okay, I can manage alone from here" he said dismissing the one of few remaing security personnel of these grounds. He doesn't know if he wants to or if he even has the strength to go any further but the still healing corner of his heart just wouldn't stop bugging him. He half-forced himself to move past the backdoors that he knew would lead him to the door that opens to his mother's secret garden - hers and his. He felt like he was walking through the road of time, replaying all the memories of the times he spent there to hide from the cruel world and seek solace within its walls.
The door now held faint traces of red paint, vines of random weeds wrapped over the stone wall holding it's frame. It looked as abandoned and neglected like the rest of the place, if not more.
He vaguely wondered if the key was still in the same place as it used to be. He looked to the right of the door for a set of huge boulders, and there, nestled behind them beneath two stones, under a mesh of wiry plant growth, he found the buried weighty key welded in the shape of swirls that formed a heart.
He had always found the design to be cheesy. "Key to my heart, mere dil ki chaabhi" his Ma used to say with a giggle knowing how much it annoyed him.
He swallowed a painful knot forming in his throat at the memory and got up to survey the door once again. He looked around to find no one in the vicinity. The garden was situated at the far end of the property hidden by a large patch of Long pine trees - now grown into a forest - his great grand father had grown to save this space from any scrutinizing gazes from the property or peeping curiosity anyone gone too far or any tresspassin press cameras hovering over the property
The way at first, the key resisted a bit to be turned, told Arnav that this place had the misfortune(or fortune) to be left undiscovered and untouched since his departure. He was both glad and sad about it.
As he heaved trying to push the door which creaked heavily and opened it to a view he found his suspiciouns confirmed: the place HAD been left untouched since he last saw it.
As he walked inside, his eyes moving around the place soaking every nook and crany of the garden his mom and him had built. One corner of the house - his childhood...home, had remained his, after all this time, patiently waiting for him.
This time the tears spilled and a sob wrecked from deep within his chest. His legs gave up and he sunk to his knees.
Sobbing, he looked around to see all the shrubs, creepers, trees, and all sorts of vegetation that he and Ma had planted over the years: the roses, the ivy creeping over a section of wall, the willows, the fountain, the white bougainville his Ma so deeply loved, the purple Wisterias wrapped across an iron frame arched over a stony passage, that she cherished so much. He had always thought the the times spent here and reminisced them with a pragmatic sense of detachment but right now he felt that gut wrenching sense of loss of what he really had with his Ma, a sanctuary. He probably always had it repressed in him. He remembered - what he now understood as an adult - the love he felt radiate from his Ma when nurturing the growth of each plant. He felt it in the way she used to hum in that soothing tone when wandering about watering the garden.
Pain like he had rarely ever felt in all of the 32 years of his life flowed through Arnav. He clutched his forehead and cried, for once in the years following his panic attack infront of his Di, letting himself feel it all and not trying to control it. Grief is not the absence of love but the abundance of it, his therapist had mentioned it once. Arnav had always known this having heard it on many other occassion from her. But now, he understood it, felt what it really means.
He knelt there crying for what felt like eternity until his PA called him to ask about his whereabouts and inform him that the old owner shall be ready to meet him in ten minutes. Arnav picked himself up and dusted his pants around the knees. He ran a heavy hand across his face, rubbing his jaw as thought and came to a conclusion.
Giving a final look around with a deep grounding intake of breath, he decided to restore this place to it's formal inviting warmth and glory. By place, he meant the entire estate.
Arnav decided that he was going to convert Sheesh Mahal into a commercial property save for this garden and the wing of his parents' sleeping chambers. He was going to turn it into a luxurious hotel. What better opportunity to foray into the hospitality market? he reasoned to himself.
With this fresh bout of determination, he locked the gate and pocketed the key, patting over it as a gesture of self-assurance. His stubbled jaw clenched with purpose and he was ready to meet his uncle.
Arnav Singh Raizada aka ASR, the King of Indian Fashion, they say.
The title wasn't without its weight. And definitely not undeserved. His world began and ended with his work. His career was nothing if not his ethics, principles, ruthless reputation, respectable competency and quality work. He had poured his blood and sweat into the brand he has built today.
Granted he had help along the way like for when his Di and Jeeja Ji got him that sabbatical from Harvard making him to realize his interest lies in fashion design. After which he had transfered schools and gotten admitted to the fashion design program at the Parsons School of Design in New York.
He was awarded several accolades and received a prestigious internship offer to work under a highly sought-after and celebrated designer in Paris. Working with the designer was life changing experience for him. He was inspired to refine his whole perspective on textiles, craft and artistry while making him appreciate and look deeper into his own ethnicity, his roots and identity.
That year, he spent half the money he earned during internship on travelling and exploring India. From East to West and from North to South. He had an all India exploration trip that he made with one two of the most notorious yet trustworthy people in his life. At the beginning of the trip, he had called in his bestfriend from college Sheetal and her then boyfriend, Aman Mathur. Little did he know how close he and Aman would become by the time they would be wrapping up the trip in Udaipur.
"Saale kya dekh raha hai aise?" Aman had asked adjusting his hat trying to protect himself from the peak summer heat in Rajasthan while they were taking a boat ride in Lake Pichola. Sheetal gave an inquisitive glance towards them before resuming to clicking pictures from her digital camera.
Arnav snorted in reply, shaking his head.
"Bas" he shrugged "Sonch raha hoon what if we both start a fashion label together?"
"You are looking at a business major gandu, look to your right" Aman said lifting his eyebrow, pointing to Sheetal " - for the fashion label talk."
"Abey gandu you think running a fashion label is not a business? Aur waise bhi I have already asked Sheetu - tujhse bohot pehle. Woh designing nahin karna chahti but wants to dabble in styling. So we have a stylist. And now, since sirf creativity and intelligence pe toh business chalne wala nahin hai isliye asking you if you want to give us a hand with your management expertise that you constantly go around flaunting at Harvard."
Aman considers for long minute frowning while looking at the green hills spreading across the edge of the lake then leans forward pretending to hit Arnav in the b*lls and laughs when he sees him jerk forward to close his knees and curse f*cker at him.
"Tu bada confident ho raha haan, business and all ki baatein karte hue. Pehle shuru toh kar phir do mahine mein graduate hokar apna answer deta hoon" he said smiling at the glistening water view.
"Chal theek hai" Arnav replied after a minute "saath saath mein MBA bhi kar leta hoon"
"Kitna haraami hai na tu" Aman accused "Admission mil gayi hai na tujhe? Didn't you?" He asked getting up to push a laughing Arnav into the lake much to the surprised gasps of the fellow passengers, who added "And with scholarship!" as he fell.
"Arnie!!!" Sheetal shrieked. "Aman!!" She reprimanded in specially reserved sharp pitched whisper for her boyfriend.
"What is wrong with you!!!?" she scolded in exhasperation when Aman jumped in deciding to join his friend.
"Sir, please diving in water during boat ride is prohibited" the boat driver nervously called to Arnav and Aman who apparently now are engaged in an attempt to hold each other in a headlock.
"Saale" Aman said taking his 'girlfriend's bestfriend' turned 'their bestfriend's' head into a stranglehold from behind, laughing as he said "tu ne na jaane Harvard ke goron ko kya patti padha kar apni ungli pe nacha raha hai jo gir gir kar tujhe wapas bulana chahte. Zyada mat udiyo samjha haan, paglait hain saare board members. Bhool gaye honge ki kis tarah tu ne pichhli baar unka ch*tiya kaata tha" Aman gave a friendly roast while playfully but not very gently strangling Arnav who was uncharchterstically guffawing heartily as well as cursing back at him. Then laughingly they hugged each other in the water, slapping each others backs.
Sheetal screamed one final time "Guys I am serious, if you are not back in the boat in the next five seconds then I am going to ask the driver to continue with our ride. Phir wapas aana khud tairte hue!" she sounded so serious that Arnav and Aman decided to not test her patience and got back on the boat.
"Yes mother" Arnav teased while pretending to be sincere but sprinkling water at her.
"Tch! Arnie yaar!" Sheetal scrunched her face scolding hitting his arm.
"And you are in trouble!" she squinted at Aman.
"Okay mo - mommy" Aman had amended, winking at her.
"What no scolding him?" Arnav pointed mock offended.
"Bandar kya jaane adrak ka swaad" Sheetal sputtered in a strange tone.
"Always ready to learn" Aman replied non-chalantly with a not very saint-like glint in his eyes.
"Oh God, get a room guys. Also I have never heard a more lame come back Sheetu" Arnav mocked his horny bestfriend and got up to scooch forward towards the boat's front, leaving his friends to their wierd kinks.
They had to pay a fine for their antics but for Arnav it was totally worth it. Though they had separately tipped the boat guy generously to compensate for putting up with them.
Sheetal had hugged him tightly once had dried himself up, congratulating him on his re-admission in Harvard.
Sheetu and Aman had broke up by the time the trip ended but the three of them managed to remain tight despite the awkward post break up phase Arnav had to endure.
Arnav, Aman and Sheetal, the "AAS (pronouncing it as a**) team" as Aman liked to joke often.
After Arnav had graduated from Harvard with honours. He was the most sought after candidate for every company in the University's vicinity. But true to his word, he had resumed his work on building his fashion label well before graduating when he was still studying as an MBA student. It wasn't so difficult back then for him to juggle his focus among more than one priority.
He would go to his classes, come back to his dorm, finish homework and get back to his designated block time period of sketching designs. Sheetal meanwhile had landed a full-time position as an assistant to a fashion expert for a major fashion company in New York. In her free time she would freelance as a stylist taking private sessions of styling consultation. Aman had gotten a fancy managerial position at one of the biggest tech companies of Silicon Valley.
He jointly worked with Sheetal to design and style a fashion line he had come up with for Indian weddings. He found the diversity in his country's cultures fascinating so different yet so similar at the core.
Once Arnav graduated, he had a vision, marketing strategy, business plan and a solid road map to executing his vision. He jointly worked with Sheetal to design and style a fashion line he had come up with for Indian weddings. He found the diversity in his country's cultures fascinating so different yet so similar at the core.
"Phir bhi dil hai hindustani" was his first ever design collection. It was a fusion design that utlized different styles and craft to fit into something new like a jigsaw puzzle. Aman had helped facilitating these visions by building connections, forming partnerships, bringing investors and essentially paving a path for them to enact their vision and make money. They released the collection and soon in a record amount of time of five years they had firmly made a niche in the Indian market. The brand popularity was increasing, leading to skyrocketing increase in their brand value. Two years went and Raizada had reached a peak that was never seen before for any Indian fashion label or even business! It had extended it's fashion line to jewellery designing, a lane Arnav had been meaning to explore for quite some time.
They had expanded their customer base to international locations for Indian customers which had been growing so exponentially that the idea of an international expansion became inevitable. Projected to increase at a 500% rate in the next 5 years Aman had said in a meeting.
It was a Eureka moment to a personal struggle had been facing for quite sometime: he was unsatisfied with the qualitative output of his company.
Not that he wasn't aware of the progress he and the label have made so far. Him, for the business acumen he had developed in shaping the vision of his company - partly thanks to the expertise of his COO Aman Mathur, and his company with the billion dollar profit it made him, amounting the brand and the Raizada Industries to a whopping net value of USD $118 billion.
May be was being a bit ungrateful. But he had help aplenty in reaching where he was that he sometimes felt like an imposter. He couldn't shrug that feeling entirely inspite of his attempts at working on it. His therapist told him that she suspects it could be because of his guilt of being born into a life of privilege and a little bit also to do with how he had reacted to his parents' death. Which perhaps wasn't entirely far from truth.
It was frustrating though. Knowing the cause but having to painstakingly struggle to find the solution to it. Almost every instance of his struggle with mental health - regardless of the occassion had some association with that incident apparently. If not that, then it was his sensitivity to violence. Arnav liked to believe that he was man enough to own the sensitive side of him and not feel emasculated by it.
He hasn't made it this far by wringing his hands, whining about his problem only to do nothing about it which is what real masculinity is about. To make things happen but also not be insecure and project your issues on other areas of your life if you are falling short on your confidence for the time being.
He had promised his sister to not let that incident hold him back from himself. So he will keep trying until he found a way to figure out a way around this roadblock like he did with many others before it.
He has surpassed other hurdles successfully and he will surpass this one with success just the same.
The tipping point was the moment Aman mentioned this fact in the meeting. He knew this was it. That was what he needed. An international expansion was what he needed to focus on to grow further. In the terms of personal/professional growth: A challenge - both for his firm and himself, is what he was craving for.
"This way Arnav" Shreya guided him to the meeting location.
Arnav took out his glasses and slid them back on, in an attempt to shield himself from getting distracted by any more blasts from the pasts.
He needed to be at his A game when facing the monster of his dreams.
His uncle was waiting by the entrance to...the family dining hall? Almost as if they were picking up where they left.
"Mr. Pratap Singh Malik" Arnav drawled smiling sardonically his tone hinted animosity.
"Chhote-" his uncle replied, his face quickly masking the momentary surprise on recognizing his nephew "-hum..." he lightly struggled as he said "aap hi ka intezar kar rahe the."
Arnav bristled at the term of endearment he allowed only his family to use.
"Arnav theek hai" he corrected in a tight tone still smiling like before.
His uncle smiled forcibly in reply, tilting his head amiably to show his agreement with Arnav wanting to keep this meeting family reunion free.
"Chai?" He gestured to the dining table. The chairs were all gone except only two placed on either ends of the longest sides of their hundred seater table. A glimpse of him seated there and struggling with his parents' death threatened to take over. But luckily he managed to quell it by taking a subtle deep breath.
They were seated across each other staring, tea left forgotten on the table.
"Toh akhir le hi liye hain aap Sheesh Mahal ko humse waapas" Chacha Ji stated, his confusion trasnforming into an indignant realization reflecting in his tightly masked expression.
Arnav would be lying if he said he didn't found that satisfying. His therapist would probably be tutting with dissapointment at that.
"Hisaab toh hisaab hai" he said in a matter of fact tone, with a cold non-chalance, shrugging lightly as if to say that it is what is.
Chacha Ji's eyes tightened with glint of rage as he smiled wider. "Aapki naani ne toh bhagwaan pe chhod diya tha is hisaab ko" he said resting an ankle on top of the knee.
"Woh Naani hai aur yeh main hoon" he replied simply. Arnav pressed his lips shifting back to rest his back on the chair and leaned on his right elbow on its arm. His hand framing his face, two fingers on his right and other two on his lips. The posture meaning to exude a sense of dominance in this conversation. His eyebrows were raised in a 'What are you going to do about it anyway?' expression.
Chacha Ji remained quiet to counter his silent powerplay. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table and rest his chin on the joined hands.
But Arnav, regardless of the inner turmoil on the idea of revenge, had waited for this moment for a pretty long f*cking time. He was emotionally aware to be hesitant sure but he not much of a saint to not let the opportunity go once he had the moment. Like right now. Narcissistic b*st*rds like his uncle thrive on their victim's weaknesses, the predictibility of their reactions and controlling their behaviour to get things in their favour through manipulation.
He, with Aman had dealt with enough of them in their illustrious careers so far to know what makes these a**holes tick and turn.
Arnav stayed put with his stance, relaxing his body into it. Like he had all the time in the world. As minutes passed by, he could sense his uncle trying hard to not fidget. Arnav smiled and spoke in acknowledgement of his discomfort making sure that his uncle understood that he was making a beneficient pass on him. Giving him the upperhand. Microaggression can be a weapon if used smartly at the right moment.
"May be we should have that tea before it gets cold" Arnav said in a tone of benevolence.
"Papers aa rahe hain" his uncle said dismissing Arnav's suggestion completely, his cilivility dropping a notch.
Another attempt to tip the scales of dominance in his direction.
Again. Microaggression. Useful weapon but only if used properly. His uncle's ego seemed to be making him blind to his lack of finesse in this department.
Arnav continued unruffled with an experienced surgical precision, "Le aayiye phir" he went along.
"Aur sab kaise chal raha hai? Kaafi suna hai tumhare barey mein itne saal se. Fashion show hai na kal tumhara apne bachpan ke ghar mein" he said carefully, assessing his facial expressions for a chink in his armour.
Arnav kept his body language easy conveying he has nothing to hide. "Bohot khoob" he replied succinctly without missing a beat, indulgently nodding, enjoying his uncle's state of fluster. The man was really trying hard to get the ball into his court.
A knock ricocheted off the double doors before they were heaved open emitting a loud metallic scrubbing noise, making it further evident of the kind of disarray the palace had been left in.
He pointedly glanced at his uncle(who observed him noticing the disheveled state of the property) with a bemused knowing smile and asked "Papers?"'
Mr. Pratap ignored the silent implication in Arnav's expression and focused on the papers he was just handed, though his flaring nostrils betrayed his indignance at the unsaid jab.
"My lawyers have already gone through the files online, I am just here for the signed hard copies" Arnav reminded. Chacha Ji handed the copy to him by sliding down to the middle of the table.
Arnav remained reactionless and got up smoothly to drag them up to him and remained standing while perusing the documents leisurely. Leaning on one hand on the table, the other hand holding the papers up for him to read, he towered over his uncle, the position further maintaining his dominance in their ongoing battle.
He gave a distracted quick glance when he heard the chair infront of him pull back as the man stood up stretching to his full height, face stony as he clasped his hands behind him.
"Sab papers baraabar hai?" he asked, his voice betraying impatience and a small hint of rage.
Arnav replied after two silent beats basking in his uncle's rage "Yes, all good" he quiped in an all business-tone, pretending ignorance of the brewing indignation in front of him.
"I wish I could say it was a pleasure, but I will refrain from making such false statements" Pratap Singh Malik.
Arnav's smile widened his eyes shimmering with dark mirth that was far from non-violent, "And I wish I could say you never deserved anything good that happened in your life least of all the miscalculation my father made to name you his heir...both times," he took off his glasses to put them in his pockets as he said in his deep baritone voice "But I will refrain from making such obvious statements."
As expected the jab landed with a resounding blast. Any semblence of the straining civility dissappeared from his face as he sneered at Arnav "Zabaan samhaal ke Chhote, duniya tumse zyada dekhi hai humne. Aur kuchh nahin toh sahi kam se kam bade hone ka lihaaz toh karein."
Arnav had to take a deep subtle breath, shifting his legs casually to mask the sudden spike his uncle's tone caused to his anger.
Instead, walking up to him he growled "Get the f*ck out of this property in three days or I will get you arrested for trespassing," emphasising every word with each menacing step he took forward until he stood infront of his uncle, crowding his personal space and looked down on him.
Using the juxtaposition of this moment with his feelings over the years to get the best of the a**hole infront him, as a form of peacemaking for quelling his raging desire to avenge and to restrain himself from the urge of pummeling the f*ck out of him with his bare fists, he cotinued looking at Chacha Ji one last time. Just like his Nani did on his last day here, an epiphany rising out of him as he said "Di was right. You are not worth it."
Never were he thought while wearing his aviators back on and turned to leave for the tasks that was supposed to be more important to him than this petty phsycological warfare for primitive dominance. He now realized why indulging in such warfare is toxic. But since, the milk has already been spilled he didn't to cry about it.
Once outside the Mahal premises, he pulled out his phone to see what is up next for his agenda of the day. On to Shastri Nivas he went.
...to be continued in part 3/3
Edited by Rizz-ington - 17 days ago
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