Читать книгу Total Siyapaa - Neha Sharma - Страница 8

Aasha was trying to stay calm, but tiny tendrils of anger still managed to escape through her I-am-a-professional-facade causing her to grind her teeth or sigh audibly at regular intervals. Her right leg was constantly bobbing up and down; even her fingers betrayed her with their jumpy drumming on the tabletop. So forceful was her drumming at one time, she even managed to knock down the two empty coffee cups on the table.

Looking around, past the cafe porch and towards the street, it was a nice evening. The street was abuzz with creative energy. Most people were either trouping in or out of a performance. They wore bright smiles and even brighter eyes. Their chatter was mostly musical. It made Aasha envious.

She was growing increasingly impatient, as was Jeff. He had spent his time either chatting up the crowd or slouched in his chair playing a game of Angry Birds. Right now he was grunting at his phone, waging a way between little red birds and tiny green pigs.

A pretty piece of music was playing in the background – Mozart, Jeff informed her, as she went through her notes and questions once again. They were thirty-five minutes past the scheduled meeting. The interview was meant to have wrapped up five minutes ago. This should have been the polite goodbyes part of the programme (or the friendlier ‘we should catch up over drinks’ part), but the artiste – Aman Ali, was yet to turn up.

The only information of Aman’s delay was a text she received twenty minutes ago from his festival rep, a man she had spoken to twice now on the phone:

Hey. Aman’s gig ran late. Should be there in 15. Thanks for your patience! - Dominic

But even that message had come ten minutes late. Aasha wasn’t impressed. Tardiness deserved no empathy; no excuse was enough either. Usually she handled these situations with an amount of detachment. It was just a job after all, but this delay was torpedoing her entire evening –both work and music wise.

“I was really looking forward to catching a gig or two tonight,” Jeff mumbled from across the table mirroring Aasha’s thoughts. He sat with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. His hands were clasped in his lap. For a change he wasn’t eating or drinking anything; in fact it was the first time Aasha had seen him without food or drink – maybe this in itself was cause for concern.

“I mean that’s the best part about these assignments.”

They still had two additional segments to record after this – that was two phone calls to two sets of artistes informing them of the delay. One had been very gracious; the other hadn’t, suggesting a rescheduling if Aasha and Jeff couldn’t keep to their time.

Not that it would matter anyway; even if they skipped the last interview, it would still be too late to make it to the Hub later that evening.

“We’re performing at the Hub tonight. You guys should join us,” Romesh had urged Aasha after the interview. “We’ll save you a couple of seats up front. Who knows you might even inspire us to create something new!”

“Yeah, we are on the lookout for a new muse anyway,” Arvinda had joked.

She liked the sound of a crashing waves muse. Jeff liked it even more. “Think about it – me inspiring music. Me being the source of melody. It sounds so right!”

“So right, it’s just wrong.”

But now there would be someone else in that seat, being all muse-like. Someone that wasn’t her. Or Jeff (because if it wasn’t her, she’d rather it was Jeff). Someone who wasn’t them, just because one flaky singer couldn’t manage his time well.

As another strong wave of disappointment washed over Aasha, she upped her carbohydrate intake. She reached for a portion of herbed bun and tore it into two, smearing each end with a dollop of butter. She offered one piece to Jeff before popping the other piece of soft white bread and salty butter into her mouth. It helped take a bit of the edge off, but that wasn’t nearly enough.

She took a deep breath and continued waiting.

By the time Aman and Dominic arrived, both Aasha and Jeff had lost any bit of enthusiasm they had before. Their faces were blank – with a great amount of effort both colleagues had managed to rearrange the irritation they were feeling into a professionally blank demeanour, complete with polite, fake smiles.

“I’m so sorry for the delay.” Aman offered his most charming smile to the pretty brown-eyed reporter.

“I’m Aman, and this here is my rep, Dominic.”

Dominic nodded at the two and took a seat on a separate table, leaving the trio to get on with business, as Aman extended his hand first to Aasha and then Jeff. It was a brief and curt exchange. If it surprised him, he didn’t comment on it.

He took in the twosome, assessing them from the corner of his eyes.

Jeff had turned his back to the table almost immediately as he began digging through his gear. It was time to set up; they had wasted enough time as it was. As laid back as he could be, Jeff in work-mode was a picture of efficiency. He was fast, organized and completely focused. It was an impressive sight.

Aman turned his attention to the dark-haired, almond-eyed woman before him. He did better with women anyway. She was incredibly pretty, he noted, but there was something more to her than just that. He could sense it. There was a fire within her; one she was trying very hard to curtail right now; one that he wanted to poke at, to fuel. He flashed another smile. This one was even brighter than the last.

“Please, Mr. Ali, have a seat,” she said without returning his smile.

“It’s Aman. Please call me Aman. Mr. Ali is my father, and trust me you don’t want him sharing a table with you. He is not into the ‘arts’.” he said in an attempt to lighten the mood. When it didn’t work he tried again, this time in a sombre tone, “I really am sorry to have kept you guys waiting. I got held up by the sponsors after the performance.”

“The sponsors, huh?” Aasha asked with a trace of sarcasm. Her honey-brown eyes lighting up with fiery flecks of gold. God, she was beautiful!

A slow half-grin spread across her face; there was definitely more of that sarcasm there in that smile. It hinted at something big coming towards him, but he couldn’t quite decipher it yet.

“I thought it was the gig that ran late.”

Oh.

Aman cast a hurried, slightly panicked, glance in Dominic’s direction; she didn’t miss the look in his eyes, and her smile only grew at that. The rep was sitting at a table behind her so she couldn’t gauge his reaction, but Aman’s quick and somewhat stuttering recovery told her enough. And if it were possible, it ticked her off further.

“Right, right. The show did run a little over. And everything else got pushed because of it. You know how these things are,” he offered with a slight shrug. “The Domino effect, I guess.”

“Domino effect, right,” she repeated without bothering to mask her contempt.

If he had accepted his misstep, if he had come clean, or apologized for it, or even simply hinted at it, Aasha would have dropped her building grudge; she would have gone back to a clean slate. But his feeble cover-up saw her walls go up further, the bricks stacking up one on top of the other erecting a wall between them.

“I hope it was no trouble.”

“Trouble, not at all. Did you go through the questions we sent across? I may have changed one or two while I waited.”

Ah, so this is how it was going to go. Game on, Aman thought.

“I did yeah. I didn’t have any problem with them. I am an open book, you know. What you see is what you get.” He waited for her to give him a look-over but she didn’t take the bait. Her eyes remained fixed, almost stubbornly, on her iPad.

“So are we recording this thing right here?” he asked. He wanted to hear her voice again; he wanted to provoke a reaction out of her again. He wasn’t sure why though. It just sounded like fun.

“Yeah, you know I figured we should do this in a public space,” she offered, before adding a silent, almost inaudible, “Somewhere with lots of witnesses.”

He would have doubted ever hearing it. He would have chalked it down to his imagination, but the tall cameraman had sniggered right on cue, before turning it into an ill-disguised cough.

“Like I was saying, shooting here allows us to capture the vibrancy of the location; it showcases the spirit of the festival. We also thought it suited your kind of music.”

“Ah, so you’ve heard my music,” he asked with a raised eyebrow. It made him seem even more boyish. Is this how he played the field, she wondered, with a wink here and a cute smile there?

Despite her annoyance, she couldn’t help but notice that he was a really nice-looking guy. Aman was dressed in a simple black T-shirt, black jeans, and a pair of bright blue All Stars. It suited him. He had silky black hair that fell into his eyes ever so often. He also looked fit – not overly built but looking like he could keep up. If she’d come across him in different circumstances, Aasha might have found him interesting.

“Of course I’ve heard your music,” she replied. “It’s part of the job.”

That was only a half-truth. She had heard his music because it was her job, but she had enjoyed it too. There was no doubt this here was a very talented man, and she was looking forward to hearing more of his music, but he didn’t need to know that.

Aman for his part let the subtle barb soak in. It was really well done and he couldn’t help admire the craftsmanship of it.

Lady Reporter 1 - Aman 0

“Yeah,” he replied with a small lazy smile as a retort began to take shape. “I only ask because my music isn’t for everyone. It takes a certain kind of mind to appreciate it.”

Lady Reporter 1 - Aman 1

He enjoyed how narrow Aasha’s eyes got at that, and how her nostrils flared ever so slightly. He could see her resolve strengthening, as if she were rising to the challenge. Aman immediately forgot his exhaustion, his hunger, and his annoyance at this interview. All he could focus on was this gorgeous journalist who seemed to dislike him very, very much. This was going to be fun!

“Can I quote you on that?”

This got Aman to laugh. It was a rich and carefree sound. Aasha liked it too much for her liking. He shook his head and sat up in his chair. His eyes were twinkling and his cheeks were flushed.

“I think we need start over before I find more ways to get myself into trouble. Can we start over again?”

When Aasha allowed him a small smirk, he continued, “Hi. I am Aman. And you are …”

“I’m Aasha,” she replied in a guarded voice. “And that’s Jeff.”

Aasha. Aasha suited her much more than Lady Reporter.

Aasha. A different kind of desi, but a desi nonetheless.

Aasha. Hope.