One Monday in the year 2018, in Hyderabad, India
1. Priyanka Vardharajan
“There are many ways to get over a broken heart, and becoming a mean workaholic is one of them”, Nina said as she critically examined her face in the mirror. I stopped drying my hands and performed a mock bow.
“That sounds profound. Well done Nina madam!”
“Yeah? Thank you, but it’s not original, I read it somewhere. Anyway, what’s the point? Even if her crabbiness is attributable to a broken heart, it doesn’t change the fact that we’re terrified of exiting this beautiful bathroom and getting to that meeting room. Didn’t someone say she might take a golden handshake and an early retirement? And Pri, isn’t this pimple taking up my entire face?”
“She already has the money for an early retirement, that part I’m sure about”, I said, choosing not responding to Nina’s last question, I know she didn’t really expect me to. “Don’t you remember that house she lives in? Lake views from every window, kitchen as big as a house. And all that gorgeous furniture. I could have sex with her bookshelves. Two women and one cat, living in a four-bedroom mansion in Banjara Hills. I don’t care how petty I sound, but I’m jealous.”
“Ms Priyanka, you never used to say sex out loud when we first met, I wonder if this is my bad influence. Does she own that house?”
“Kaushik asked her that when she hosted us that disaster of an office party — you can always trust him to ask the awkward questions. She told him she rents it, in that cool superior smiling way she has, and she totally ignored his question about how much the rent is. Probably more than my salary, that’s for sure. God, I do sound petty. Nina Khurana, please can you stop obsessing over your face? We’ve been standing here for 10 minutes! What are you hoping for, that the world will be a different place when we get out of here?”
“Oooh why not? How nice would it be to find that there has been a very focused meteor strike while we’ve been here? Fire and rubble on the floor, no casualties, but all meetings cancelled. Alright, stop fussing, let’s get it over with. The good thing is it will be over in an hour, maybe less. We might be broken shells by the end of that hour, but no one said life in consulting was going to build up your humanity. I know you’re even more nervous than I am but you’re hiding it well. Listen, Pri, I have a feeling that today will be different. You will slay them”. And she struck a warrior pose, so incongruous in that bathroom that I had to laugh. “Remember, illegitimi non carborundum!”
“You’re such an annoying drama queen” I told her but I was smiling as we walked to the conference room. I was touched that she had been exaggerating her anxiety to help me feel better. It had been a pleasant surprise to find a friend at Kane Partners. If it wasn’t for Nina, I would have left Hyderabad and gone home ages ago. We joke that our friendship started out as a marriage of convenience and turned into true love, Georgette Heyer style. Mr. Joseph the house agent is such an unlikely matchmaker but he clearly knew what he was about. He had suggested we meet and consider sharing a house, given all the things we had in common — we were both going to work at Kane Partners, it was the first job for both of us, and we were both looking for homes in Gachibowli. I hadn’t wanted a flatmate. I had recently moved from a cluttered life on campus and I was looking forward to living on my own, but all the one-bedroom flats looked so depressing that I had reluctantly agreed to share a house with this stranger who did not at all look like my idea of an ideal flatmate. Nina Khurana from Delhi. There’s no way we’ll get along, I had thought. She even looks like my most stereotyped picture of Delhi. Tall, slender, gorgeous curly hair and always so effortlessly sophisticated. I grew up in a home where being fashionable meant being shallow, and had almost felt proud when an IIM classmate had asked me if the good folks at FabIndia knew their clothes were my uniform. I had signed the lease feeling that I was signing up for the biggest experiment of my well-ordered life.
It has turned out to be better than my wildest hopes. Nina is so much more than an Instagram influencer. She reads non-stop. Her opinions on politics and society are even stronger than her views on fashion. She’s a militant feminist, and unlike me, isn’t afraid of voicing her opinions even when it keeps getting her into awkward spots. She wakes up early, pottering about among plants in the balcony, painting, brewing and drinking endless cups of tea by the time I wake up. I sometimes sit in the balcony and watch her paint as I drink my coffee. If I didn’t remind her, she would probably keep painting and forget about the office. It’s wonderful to live with someone so calm and unruffled. In spite of all her drama, I don’t think she feels any stress about work. Even these horrible Monday meetings with our boss Falak. I hate these Monday meetings. Everyone on the team — there are ten of us — talks about what they’re working on. It’s meant to foster a “culture of collaboration”, but it is such a pain, so much humble bragging goes on in these sessions. I don’t think anyone listens to anyone else, we’re all too busy thinking about what we’re going to say. Everyone speaks by turn, as per their position in the hierarchy, or the pecking order, as Nina calls it. As the two most recent entrants on the team, Nina and I get to speak at the end. I’ve always been a little timid about public speaking, and even this small group brings out the worst of my fears. I feel like I’m 12 again and trying to read The Charge of the Light Brigade at the annual function. I stumble over words, repeat myself and rarely say anything that catches anyone’s interest. Falak is the worst. My one goal, when I speak, is to not look at her face. As faces go, it’s not bad. You expect her to look like the Caroline Bingley character in the Pride and Prejudice, but she actually looks like the Elizabeth Bennet. Sort of contented and amused with a private joke of her own. But whenever anyone is saying something dull, or basically whenever I’m talking, Falak’s face acquires a mixture of boredom, contempt and impatience, and the sight of it makes me even more nervous. I look at the whiteboard when I speak.
It hadn’t been this stressful in the beginning. I enjoyed work in the early days. Gosh, I sound like an old timer. I’ve been with Kane for exactly seven weeks. The first two weeks were perhaps the best. We had one entire week of “onboarding sessions”, workshops called “consulting 101” and mock client meetings. It was like being in a college festival, going from one event to another, being herded around with twenty other new employees. At the end of that first week, we had been assigned to different practices within Kane, and Nina and I were so relieved to find that we were both in the same team, even though it was Infrastructure, which everyone said was the toughest place at Kane Partners.
“But to be fair, Infrastructure is the one that brings in the most business too, and that’s where most of the promotions seem to come from. So it’s not a complete disaster” Nidhi had said, perhaps trying to comfort us. She’s our lunch buddy, works in HR and is the source of all office knowledge. We had asked her what she thought of Falak Tadvi, the Infrastructure lead that everyone was terrified of. “It’s typical. Woman rises to the top faster than all the men, and they have to put labels on her. They used to say she has socialised her way to the top, but she’s become a hermit now so they can’t say that anymore. So now the word is that she’s angry and manipulative. It’s the price that women pay to be original and successful. So much loneliness. I bet she misses all the parties, she used to love dancing.” Nidhi had shrugged, and I had wondered if she was thinking about herself when she said that.
Nina had asked the question I wanted to: “Are you telling me that Falak Tadvi was a social person at some point in time? That’s so hard to believe!”
Another shrug. “You don’t have to believe me. But yeah, when she joined Kane fifteen years ago, she was just like you guys. She laughed all the time. All her victories seemed so effortless too. Any client presentation she walked into, she made everyone else look underprepared. People couldn’t stop talking about how amazing she was. Partied every night, turned in consistently great work. This girl didn’t miss a single promotion year until she became partner. But there were a lot of personal tragedies. First she lost her father, then that no-good husband cheated on her. I’ve seen her become quieter and tougher, but I don’t think she’s unkind”.
But Nidhi is wrong about Falak. Nidhi has never worked with Falak and I have. For a full six weeks now. I cringe every time I remember my very first Monday morning presentation. Was that only a month ago? She had listened to me quietly as I spoke, her eyes never leaving my face, her face expressionless. And as I finished, she looked at Charulata, smiled and said, “I think this might just be the worst first-timer presentation I’ve seen a whole decade of first-timer presentations. Maybe we should reconsider the list of schools we recruit from, huh?” Still smiling, she had turned to me to say — “It’s Varsha is it, your name? No, Priyanka, sorry. Hey Priyanka, this needs a lot of work. Both the content and your style. None of this is Kane-level. You didn’t tell me one thing that I didn’t know already, and I was bored 30 seconds after you started speaking. We all copy each other, that’s what consulting is about, no one is creating anything new here. But we’re paying you so much because we want to see how you can resay everything that’s been said before. Keep working with Charu, she’ll help you salvage this. Let’s do this again in about a week’s time?” I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hated Falak Tadvi in that moment. I was able to hold my tears back, but only until I reached the loo, which thankfully was empty. Nina came in a few minutes later and found me sniffling and half-heartedly looking up flights to Bombay. Of course, I wasn’t going to really go home two weeks after joining Kane. I should at least wait until paati has had a chance to properly brag to all the neighbours. Nina had reminded me of all the Falak stories we had heard, stories of how she enjoyed destroying people’s confidence, and said — “I bet this was just the beginning, Pri. Save some of these tears for next Monday. I bet she’ll be much worse next week.”
And how right she was. I’ve now had four of these miserable Mondays. Falak is mean to everyone, but seems to find special pleasure in making me squirm. The best day was when she just kept looking at her phone as I spoke, and then rolled her eyes to heaven when I had finished. The worst was when she analysed every single sentence I had spoken, explaining why it was bland, unoriginal or just plain incorrect. I’ve been thinking hard about how I can change this, and maybe today will be different. Or who knows, I will reach new levels of despair. But like Nina says, it will all be over in an hour from now.
2. Nina Khurana
“Your mom told me you live with a south Indian girl? Do you eat idlis and rice every day, hahaha?”
My grandmother is always so predictable. I knew she was going to make some crack along those lines, and that was one of the many reasons I had been putting off calling her in spite of Mom’s multiple reminders. I love nani to bits, but she can be annoying. Still it was a blessing she was on the phone and not here in person. I peeked over my shoulder to see if Pri could hear any part of the conversation. She was working at her presentation, face intense, earphones in her ears, nodding gently to that Led Zeppelin which she seems to love, and which I don’t get at all. But to be safe, I walked into my room and closed the door. “Nani, it’s been 6 weeks since Pri and I have been living together, and we’ve had idlis once, which is probably less than what you’ve had this week! Stop being silly, please?”
“Okay, tell me one thing more. Does she put oil in her hair every day?”
“No she does not. Have I ever asked you if your friend Mrs. Suresh puts oil in hair every day? Please stop acting like you’re 80 years old. Oh wait you are 80 years old, ha-ha I’m even funnier than you, no? Nani, you should come over to Hyderabad and embarrass me in person. I have a huge room, you can stay with me, and we’ll have fun. Think of all the biriyanis you can eat and all the pearls you can buy. Okay I have to leave for work now, let’s talk about this tonight? Bye, love you!”
I wasn’t being honest. I didn’t really want Nani to accept my invitation and I had a full hour before I needed to leave for work. She enjoys travelling but she’s very demanding. We call her the Princess of Patiala. And it is early days of my friendship with Pri — it might not be ideal to inflict Nani on her. Although you never know, she might just take to Nani, racist jokes and everything. She’s one of most tolerant people I have met. I mean Priyanka of course; Nani is as far from tolerant as it is possible to get. Four weeks ago, when we first met at the housing agent’s office, I have to confess it was mistrust at first sight. How on earth did Mr. Joseph imagine that this girl was “my type”? Unfashionable glasses, one of those ethical fashion-type kurtas, terrible haircut. I felt bad that I was judging her almost exactly like my mother would, but it annoys me when people go out of their way to look unattractive. It seems like such pointless posturing and so pretentious, as though they’re saying that unlike you, my mind is on loftier things. I thought we might get along alright but we could never become friends. I was so wrong. It took us less a week to become soulmates. Maybe it comes from living and working together, or maybe we are kindred souls like Pri likes to say. Whatever it is, I’ve never felt this close to anyone, not in the two decades in Delhi, not in the two years in London. Pri is the only friend I’ve introduced Faheem to. I found myself telling her about him last weekend as we celebrated our one-month anniversary of being flatmates. It almost helps that she doesn’t get how tragic it all is.
“No one cares about these things anymore, Nina! There are 4 hindu-muslim couples in my building alone.” She was really struggling to understand my discomfort.
“Will you get out of your Mahim housing society, Priyanka Vardharajan? If I didn’t like you so much, I would be convinced you’re putting on an act and pretending to not understand. This morning they killed a 25-year-old for exactly what I’m dreaming of doing, did you not read that? What imaginary bubble do you live in?”
“Nina, that was a village in Haryana. It doesn’t happen in, you know, ummm, cities? Do you personally know anyone who got murdered for loving someone from a minority community?”
This girl. Queen of euphemisms and political correctness.
“What you mean is that this sort of thing only happens to poor people. And you’re right, I don’t personally know anyone who go killed for marrying a Muslim person. But I also don’t personally know anyone who married a Muslim! Your Mahim housing society is a secular haven of open-mindedness, congratulations. But it is not the country we live in! No one will kill me, fingers crossed, but I will lose everything. My family’s affection, my friends’ acceptance. My father will say that I have broken his heart. He’ll ask me do I know how unkindly “they” treat “their” women. My mom will say of course it is my life, my decision but of course I have to understand that they will not be able to participate in my future in any way whatsoever. There will be a burst of family drama, and when the dust settles, I’ll be alive, but I’ll have lost every connection to the world that I’ve taken for granted.”
I could see from Pri’s face that she thought I was exaggerating. It was that doubtful look that brought tears to my eyes. She was immediately contrite, and came bounding over to hug me.
“Gosh Nina, I’m so sorry! I’m in idiot and you’re absolutely right, I live with my head in the clouds. No, really, I’m starting to get it. Even if you guys were to move to a different country, and even if you didn’t face any daily harassment, not having access to your parents’ love would hurt. I get that. I’m really sorry”
“I forgive you. Let’s open another bottle of wine, I need to drown my sorrows properly”
“Right away. We can still talk about Faheem you know, as much as you like. When will he bring his beautiful self over to our humble city?”
“He’ll be here in February, as soon as he finishes his Seattle project. I might go to spend the Christmas vacation with him there, if I can con my parents again. And no, I don’t want to talk about this anymore. When you come back with the bottle, let’s talk about your daydreams of how you’d like to kill Falak. I know that’s your favourite topic of conversation.” It’s exhausting to talk about Faheem, even to someone as comforting as Pri. And I know she really wanted to vent about Falak.
I have another secret, bigger than Faheem, a secret that Pri especially cannot be told. I actually really like Falak. I’m absolutely fascinated by that woman. If she wasn’t so unkind to Pri, I would absolutely adore her. I think I already do adore her, I’m just wary of verbalising it because everyone else is so critical of her. People judged her so much that she came back to work within days of losing her mother. I could see this was her way of managing sadness, but I didn’t say this out loud. There’s nothing I would like more than to be friends with Falak. I envy her sense of style, her air of absolute self-confidence. She reminds me of lines from poem I love — “You’re a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars. You have a right to be here”. I’ve never felt like I have a right to be anywhere, constantly feeling the need to prove myself, to be the best in school, to please people. And Falak looks like she has a right to be wherever she is, wherever she wants to be, and she knows this. I’ve started to copy her style too. She wears the exact same thing every day — silk tops in solid pastels and slim black pants, and she looks unruffled no matter how many hours she spends at work. I haven’t seen her angry or upset. She doesn’t need to get angry. Her one quiet glance can contain more biting criticism than five minutes of grumbling Mahesh. Last week she looked over at a few slides I had made, and said a quiet “This is very well done, Nina”. I’m almost embarrassed to say that my heart hammered in joy for hours after that. There is no way I can ever tell Pri about this, given the awful time she’s been having, so I’ve been hugging that half sentence of praise like a guilty secret for days. I keep reassuring Pri that Falak is not singling her out, that she’s universally mean, but it’s not true. Falak does seem to reserve her cruellest barbs for Pri, and it is uncomfortable for everyone who’s watching. And it seems to bring out the worst in Pri. She’s one of the smartest people I know, but somehow turns into this confused mass of nerves whenever Falak is around.
Pri was already up when I woke up this morning, which has never happened before. I saw her sitting at the kitchen table with her huge mug of coffee and laptop, in that silly pink night-dress. I swear I will hide that piece in our give-away pile the next time I see it in the washer. She told me she woke up at 4 AM and decided to work instead of trying to go back to sleep. “I’ve had this insane idea for my presentation. I’m going to change things today, Nina, you’ll see”. It breaks my heart to see her determination. She’s another of those, unsure of her place in the world, desperately trying to prove herself. Maybe that’s why we get along so well. She doesn’t hide her fears as well as I can, and besides, her situation is tougher than mine. At least I have a mother who believes in me. Pri hasn’t had to fight patriarchy the way I have, but then I don’t have a family who thinks anyone not going to Harvard is a blot on the family name. Her grandma thinks IIM Ahmedabad is a compromise for god’s sake! My grandma didn’t know what IIM was. “Business school? You have to go to school to learn business? Your grandfather became the biggest businessman in Ludhiana without going to any school at all, hahaha!” I don’t know what’s worse, honestly — to have a family that expects nothing from you, or to have one that expects too much. Pri has a cousin who is the CEO of a VC fund, and this cousin is her granny’s favourite. The pressure of it! The worlds we come from are so different, it’s bizarre. I hope she has better time in the Monday meeting today, it’ll give her some good news to share with her grandmother.
3. Falak Tadvi
The first thing I saw as I walked into the office this morning was that monstrosity of a banner. Happy birthday dear coach. They must have invested so much effort into selecting the right font, the right words. One of these young analysts would probably have lost a night’s sleep over the complicated brief — it needs to be something that acknowledges her position in Kane, but doesn’t make her feel old. It needs to be cheerful, but not too festive, given her recent loss. Friendly, but not presumptuous. I imagined the emails flying back and forth, huge sighs of relief as Mahesh approved “happy birthday dear coach”, and his fervent prayers that I would like it. The thought of Mahesh’s worried face made me giggle and I was glad no one was around. But then I realised people know I like to start my day early, so someone must have been assigned the responsibility to put this thing up on Sunday night.
I had celebrated my 25th birthday at Kane Partners too. The entire infrastructure practice had been at client dinner, and someone had remembered my birthday as dessert was being served. A bunch of candles were found, people had gathered around to sing, and I had totally enjoyed the attention. The senior partner had leaned over and said — “So Falak, 25, huh! How much I envy you for the volume of possibilities in your life right now! Tell me, where do you see yourself 5 years from now?” I had been careful not to roll my eyes at that, not even in my imagination. Everyone knew Mr. Subramaniam could see inside people’s heads. It must have been that third glass of wine that made me tell me my real plans, instead of what I knew he expected to hear.
“Funny you should ask, I do have exciting plans. In five years, I expect to be among the youngest directors here at Kane. I’m saving and investing, and I want to make sure I have 10 crore rupees in my account before I reach my 30th birthday.” He beamed with approval, but quickly looked annoyed as I went on. “I’ll use part of the money to buy a beach house in south Goa. I’ll run the place as a combination of a pet shelter, bookstore, maybe even a guest house. And I’ll write stories full time”
“I did not expect this, Falak!” Damn, I knew it would shock the poor man. I should not have let myself carried away.
“That’s a decent retirement plan, but it’s not something you’ll do at 30! I hope you’re joking. Listen, I’m going to be honest with you. Your two years with us have been nothing short of brilliant. You’ve impressed everyone in the leadership team, and we see you on track for partnership. I know you’re not going to throw it away on some silly college student type of dream of goa and writing. It’s such a clichéd dream too! Invest in yourself, invest in Kane, and you’ll be able to buy multiple homes in multiple cities whenever you’re ready to retire. And knowing you, you have too much fire in you to settle to be a writer. But I know, you were kidding, weren’t you?”
“You caught me Subbu! Of course, I was kidding. But I guess I should be allowed to joke on my birthday, no?” I was hoping hard he would buy it. And he had.
“Absolutely, you’re allowed to joke on your birthday. I’m quite proud of how well I can predict people and their actions, and I can tell you this — even if at some level you do have that dream, the bigger part of you is very, very ambitious. I meet a lot of ambitious people every day, but you have a whole different intensity. You will outgrow this fantasy, and you will work at Kane for the next 30 years if not more. They’ll have to beg you to retire, like we had to do for old Mr Miranda, haha. Never mind this now. Tell me about your family. Are they happy with your two promotions in two years?”
I was glad we were back in the small-talk zone. My family was easy to talk about, and I was so proud of them. “Well, they don’t really belong to this world, but they try. My parents are both doctors, and they’re glad I didn’t choose the long road to becoming a physician. They’re thrilled at all the travel I get to do, that I became financially independent before my brother who is 4 years older than me”.
“Nice, very impressive family. Do they live here in Hyderabad?”
“No, my parents live in Bhopal. They’re both professors in the medical college there. And my brother is in Bangalore.”
“Let me guess. Your dad’s a surgeon, your mom’s a gynaecologist. And your brother is studying to be a surgeon.”
His assumptions annoyed me, but I smiled. “I’m sorry Subbu, all your guesses are off the mark. All three of them are in psychiatry. My brother Kabir will get his degree in a few months. My father’s actually written the textbook that my brother is studying”
“Oh wow, that is so impressive. I bet you have a lot of couches in your home, what? Hahaha!”
I had laughed dutifully at that joke, even though I’d heard versions of it a hundred times.
Subbu’s view into my future was nothing short of prophetic. Eight years after that conversation in the Novotel bar, I had received an offer to be a partner. It was the year of big changes, but the partnership was the only happy change. I exhausted my good fortune the day I accepted that offer. Two weeks later, papa had an unexpected stroke that took him away overnight, giving us no time to prepare ourselves for a life without him. Mom fell apart. I realised for the first time how much of her confident personality had come from being married to a man like Papa. I took a month off and stayed with her in Bhopal, and managed to convince her to come and live with me. I received a lot of support from my team, which surprised me. What didn’t surprise me was the lack of support from my husband who I had met and married a couple of years ago. We had come together in a shared dream for our future, but that dream had not included a dependant parent. The fact that he cheated on me hurt me less than the fact that he did it with my best friend. He had said in court that last time we met — “You know you never really loved me, Falak”, and I had realised he was right. I was grieving over losing Maya a lot more than over losing him. It all seemed like such a long time back. Mom had never recovered from losing Papa. The kind of things we would have wanted to protect her from — my divorce, Kabir bhaiyya’s lifestyle choices — none of it had the power to hurt her in the world she lived in for the twelve years of her life that she lived without Papa.
I expected my forty-fifth birthday to feel like a grim milestone but I felt strangely optimistic. What would I like to do today? I asked myself, the way Papa used to ask. I want to go dancing, the voice in my head said, and felt guilty immediately. It’s less than a month that Mom passed away, what kind of daughter am I? I miss her every day, but I also feel a sense of relief from the constant worrying. Perhaps Kabir can help me make sense of these confused feelings. I resolved to call him in the evening. First to remind him that it was my birthday, and then to get his advice. He would probably tell me to calm the eff down and go dancing. Wait, who would I go dancing with? I can’t remember the last time I went on a date, the last time I danced. How did this happen? I do know how it happened, of course. Kane and Mom have been my full-time commitments, and for years I have used both as the excuse to retreat into myself. A forty fifth birthday might be a good day to break out. As if on cue, the phone rang. It was Kabir.
“Bhaiyaa! I was just thinking about you, literally seconds ago!”
“I believe you. Shall I tell you what you were thinking? That you should call me and remind me that it’s your birthday. And that you should ask for my advice on what you should do with your life now that Mom has gone and nothing at Kane is challenging. That respectful silence proves I’m right on both counts. Happy birthday, Falak. How are you feeling, kiddo?”
I swallowed the lump that had come into my throat. That my brother could predict me so well didn’t surprise me, it happens all the time. I wanted to hug him and cry. I told him that.
“Go ahead and cry, hugs we’ll do soon. Have you been feeling like crying a lot these days? You might be peri-menopausal. How’s your libido?”
“Considering I haven’t had any sex in the past decade, my libido is raging. Maybe you could send me a gigolo for a birthday present? I was thinking I’d like to go dancing today, but I have no one I could go with.”
“Boohoo, look at that, my poor baby sister who has neither boyfriends nor girlfriends. Had one boyfriend who first turned husband then ran way away with the one girlfriend. And I can bet you’re also feeling guilty over wanting to go dancing so soon after Mom has gone, right. Look, sweetie, you need to snap out of this self-pity mode, I’m not going to indulge you.”
As always, I felt my mood shift as he talked. That desire to break out of my life grew until it became a physical sensation that was half pain half pleasure. Like there was a balloon inside my heart.
“Alright bhaiyya, you master manipulator. I’ll download one of those apps that I keep reading about and go out with a stranger.” As he laughed softly, the balloon inside my heart grew bigger. “Wait, there’s more. I feel like I should leave Kane Partners.”
“Oh thank goodness, I was worried you were planning to die in your uniform. Falak, if you resign, I will quit smoking. You quit your addiction, I’ll quit mine. Let’s both do it today Okay I have to go now, time for my next patient. Have a good day, kiddo, break a leg.”
“Wait, I didn’t mean to say I’ll leave Kane today!” But he had hung up. Only a naïve doctor would imagine I could decide to resign and do it the same day. Could I? Wait, why can’t I?”
Suddenly it seemed like every extra day that I spent at Kane would be waste of time. Mahesh will be happy to take over from me. He’ll be an ass no matter how many years I stay and “mentor” him. There really weren’t any good reasons to continue working at Kane, and there were too many good reasons to go open my house on Agonda beach. As I started to think about my goodbye emails, I felt glee wash over me. I couldn’t even remember the last time I was this excited. If this is what perimenopause feels like, bring it on I say.
Charu walked in as I was mentally composing the emails to the board. I remembered we had scheduled time to review the Goethe Builders presentation. As I tried to re-focus my thoughts, I saw looking her at me, open-mouthed.
“What is it, Charu?”
“Oh! Nothing. Sorry, I didn’t realise I was staring. It’s just that you were laughing to yourself, and I was curious. Also, happy birthday!”
“Thank you. I was cooking up plans to make some people miserable, and that always makes me happy”.
She was smiling. “I think I can guess who it is. I have to apologise for that hiring mistake, Falak. She was very promising in her interview! I cannot believe how shabby her work is. We’ll transition her out soon.”
I had no idea what she meant. “Sorry, what?”
“Weren’t you thinking of that new analyst? Priyanka Vardharajan? No? Oh. You’ve been so vocal in your criticism of her -”
She stopped mid-sentence as I continued to look surprised. I hadn’t known I was picking on Priyanka so much. I had been trying to play bad cop, convinced that a bit of tough love would take away her shyness. But I may have gone too far.
I asked Charu: “Do you find her work shabby? I’ve honestly been very impressed with her skills. Number crunching and writing — it’s not common to see someone good in both. It’s usually one at the cost of the other. She’s just very self-conscious in meetings, and I’ve been trying spook her into becoming confident. That kind of thing used to work on me when I was an analyst. But maybe I’m doing too much of it? Should I stop and get into good cop mode?”
Perhaps I had never asked her for her opinion like this before. I had the doubtful pleasure of seeing Charu stammer and go pink. She backtracked fast. “Of course, Falak! You’re absolutely right! I let her run some of the numbers for this Goethe pitch, and she’s done a good job.”
“Great! Let’s go through it quickly. We have about 10 minutes before we need to go into the scrum”.
4. Nina
We walked into the conference room, thankful we weren’t the last to enter. Falak was clacking away at her laptop, but she looked up and smiled as we walked in and said a bright thank you as Pri and I mumbled our happy birthdays. This was a such a contrast from her usual distracted air that Priyanka raised her eyebrows at me questioningly. I shrugged and gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile. Falak might be, I hoped, one of those people who feel obliged to mark their birthdays with a good mood and Pri’s streak of nasty Mondays might end today. Mahesh smiled at us too, but then he copies everything that Falak does so it doesn’t mean anything. If she had decided to stick her tongue out us, he’d have done the same. He’s the most senior manager in Infrastructure. Nidhi says he may be offered partnership this year. If that happens, he’ll take over as practice lead, and Falak will move to the New York office. It will be a welcome change from most people’s perspective. Mahesh doesn’t give anyone any anxiety. He’s also very dull. I enjoy watching the two of them interact though, it really pleases the feminist in me. This morning he had his entire attention on Falak, face tense, trying to make small talk that would interest her, describing his weekend’s highlights. I suspect he spends Monday to Friday thinking of interesting things to do over the weekend so that he can talk about it on Monday. She usually responds in that bored, half distracted manner of hers. But there was an air of suppressed excitement about her today, and she looked younger and happier. She didn’t stop typing, but occasionally smiled and nodded at him. He seemed surprised and flattered at this unusual attention from her. One by one, the team filled in with the usual Monday jumpiness but remembering to wish Falak a happy birthday. Charu looked especially stressed. She didn’t throw the encouraging glances that she sometimes does towards me and Pri before these meetings. I wished she had, because Pri was looking really pale. What if she faints out of fright, I found myself wondering, remembering a friend in school who often fainted on recitation days. The teacher used to rush to open the windows and call the nurse. There aren’t no windows at Kane, none that you can open anyway. There are only large glass panels that look out at construction lots. You don’t get any sun or air from these panels. It’s almost as if they were put here to remind us that no matter how tough your day is, you’re at least better off than the construction workers. I looked at yellow hats going up and down in flimsy lifts. I imagined working in the middle of all the dust, smoke and rubble. I wondered if the workers feel sad knowing they will never be able to enter the hotel when it is opened? I heard my name and realised with absolute horror that thanks to my grim daydreaming, I had missed the entire meeting. It was my turn to speak. With effort I recalled what I had been working on through the week, and somehow stumbled through facts and figures. Mahesh looked amused, as though he knew I had been far away. He said, smiling, but it was not a pleasant smile — “This year’s new hires are unlike any we’ve had before. When I was an analyst, I used to start shaking the moment I entered the office. I used to jump when my managers spoke to me. These guys just don’t have the fire we used to have, huh, Falak?” He beamed at her, confident that she would approve. She looked at him, but didn’t say anything. It disconcerted him I could see that. And then she turned to Pri — “Let’s hear from Priyanka now. How come she always goes last? I bet that’s not fun. Next time let’s reverse the order, shall we? Alright Priyanka, what’s your update?” It could have been wishful thinking, but I thought she smiled kindly at Pri, who also looked startled. But then she took a deep breath. And became a different person.
“I’ve been working on the Nile Steel project with Charu, but she’s already shared all the developments on that one, so I have nothing to add. The slides that she shared on the 10-year projections, that was the piece I worked on. And the pricing piece also. And the market landscaping for their new alloy — I did that one.” There was no diffidence, no discomfort, no staring at the whiteboard as she spoke. Who was this girl? A couple of people looked surprised and looked at Charu, who looked annoyed. Had Charu not been sharing credit with Pri? Damn, now both Falak and Charu will get after Pri. But Falak was beaming.
“Did you? That market landscaping was brilliantly done. I can’t say I’m surprised. I think your analytical skills are above par, but we need work on your presentation skills. Do you think you can take the lead on the client meeting with Nile next week? You can do a few practise sessions with Charu and Prashanth, and then do a mock with me.”
What was going on? First Priyanka acts so completely out of character, then Falak offers a client presentation to a 5-week-old analyst. I could see everyone was as surprised as I was. Charu looked like she might cry. She had told Pri last week that she got her first client meeting after two years of being at Kane.
The surprises were only beginning. Priyanka responded as though she had expected this, as though it was nothing more than she deserved. “Sounds great Falak. I would be thrilled to lead the pitch. With Charu’s help, I’m sure I’ll be able to do a decent job”.
Well done, Pri. But she wasn’t done.
“There’s one more thing I’d like to bring up. I believe the market is ready for a low-cost housing solution. With the new central policies on home loans for low to middle income Indians, there will be a lot of people looking to buy homes. I’m wondering if we should pitch to Goethe that they should invest in affordable housing. I did some back of the envelope calculations and I think it could be 1000 crore market. If you think it makes sense, I could do a deeper dive into the market sizing and what the opportunity could look like over the last 5 years”. Pri stopped speaking and looked at Falak expectantly. She had finally run out whatever steam she had built up and had her usual nervous expression back on.
“What is the new central policy on home loans?” Mahesh asked. Pri was prepared to answer that questions, and the other questions that followed. So that’s what she had been doing this morning, looking for a way to set herself apart and feel confident. It had worked. I sensed a new respect in the room, and not just from Falak. I felt as proud as a mother, and there was happy lump in my throat. We all looked up the policy, Prashanth picked up the markers and started to put the numbers on the board, Kaushik spoke about his experience in Mexico’s affordable housing. It was fabulous to see the enthusiasm in the room, and to know that Pri was responsible for this. She looked happier than I had ever seen her.
Falak finally stemmed the tide. “This is wonderful. Well done Priyanka. The numbers look good, and it’s a good opportunity to chase. Kaushik, can I request you to work with Priyanka and create a rough storyboard for me by Wednesday? Great! I’d like to work on this. This could be a great last project before I move. Thank you, Priyanka”. She shut her laptop and rose. Priyanka’s cup of happiness was full. But mine was about to get some attention too.
“And before we get back into our holes, I have one more request. Nina, I hear you’re one of the most up-to-date millennials in the office. Would it be possible for you to help me plan my birthday party? Help me find a bar where people of my generation go, but not so boring that it doesn’t have a dance floor? You can? Thank you! And everyone, if you can make it, please come over to whatever place Nina chooses for us, it will mean a lot to me. Plus I have some personal decisions I’d like to share ”
It happens very rarely that I can remember a favourite line from a favourite film when I want to say it, not ten hours later. I said — “Falak, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship”.
