Page 23 of Made in Mumbai

Rustom chuckled, then let out a full blown laugh. The office atmosphere warmed again. He wiped the cream off his nose and licked it clean, eliciting merry sounds and bright photo flashes from around her.

“Yay!!! Happppy birth-day to you…” they all sang with her. She passed the cake to Riya and reached into her side pocket to pull out the fistful of confetti she had emptied there from a party shop. She threw it over Rustom. Then threw more around to more hoots and cheers.

“What’s going on here?” Sia’s loud voice cut through their party. Everybody cleaved away for her. And there stood the man himself, looking just as good as she had left him this afternoon. He and Sia seemed to be returning from somewhere as they entered their office area.

“What is all this?” Gautam frowned.

“It’s Rusti Bhai’s birthday!” Maya chirped. “Come, we are just cutting the cake. It’s salted caramel…”

“Please make sure you clean up all the mess before you leave. And keep it down, people are working upstairs. Happy birthday Rustom.”

With that he was gone, followed by his Employee Of The Year. Maya shrugged, getting a table cleared to cut and distribute the cake. When everybody was happily digging in, including Rustom who had just discovered the wonders of salted caramel in his favourite cheesecake, Maya stole a piece to run upstairs. She remembered he did love sugary things. He had had them add extra sugar to his filter coffee at Mysore Cafe that night.

Maya climbed up the final stairs. It was second time in a day that she found herself on his terrace. This time, just as the sun was softening in the sky. The birdsong was louder, the tinkle of sea waves sweeter.Ahhh… my coffee-break spot, she lamented. But pasted a smile on her face as she knocked on his closed glass door. It was partly reflective but she couldn’t see what was going on inside.

“Yes?”

“Hi, it’s me. Maya.”

“Come in.”

She pushed open the door and came face to face with Sia.

“Oh hi, I didn’t know you were here or I would have gotten two pieces. We have sent a whole section of cake to your floor…”

“What cake?”

“Rustom’s birthday cake,” she held the styrofoam plate up, glancing at Gautam reclining in his chair. “It’s really good, I tasted a slice at Poetry & Cheesecake before getting it. I mean… I like everything salted caramel, and I am the biggest champion of their salted caramel… but never hurts to see if it’s fresh…”

“Thanks. I don’t take sugar on weekdays,” came his curt reply.

“Oh my god! Neither do I,” Sia gasped. “In fact, even on weekends I only take brown sugar or jaggery powder. It has made my waistline go one size smaller and I feel so active.” This last one was spoken with a sneaky glance at her curvy hips. Maya straightened her posture.

“It also makes you think clearer,” Gautam — the party pooper, supplemented. “Added sugar slows and swells the body, makes the mind lethargic.”

“I swear. So, take it Maya, we are both health conscious. But thanks for bringing it, yaa?”

What a sudden bitch!Chameleon,Maya seethed, doing an about turn and marching out of the glasshouse. The door shut behind her and she scooped a massive dollop of cream on her finger and stuffed it right into her mouth.Awww…wow, wow, wow!Her eyes widened.Butterscotch granules.The slice she tasted didn’t have that.

“Sugar may make your waist swell but it makes my whole heart burst, Chameleon!” She whispered-shouted to the glass wall. And like magic, the thing lit up. She jumped back.

There reclined the boss, his gaze seared on hers, his hand on the light switch behind him. Their eyes met. Sia-the-Chameleon was clueless, back turned to her, talking animatedly. But for one moment, he held her gaze.

Then his eyes fell on her cream-covered finger in front of her mouth and Maya made a beeline for the stairs.

3. I Hate Love Storys

“Mile jo chhora chhori…” she grooved, going around the co-working area collecting her colourful markers. Her coworkers’ definition of ‘borrow’ was ‘steal.’ Markers never came back.

“Hui masti thodi thodi…” came a deep baritone from behind. She whirled.

“Bas pyaar ka naam na lena!” She challenged.

“I hate love stories…” the man grinned. Dimples popped on both his stubbled cheeks, and his eyebrows shot up from behind thick, black-framed glasses. Maya dumped all her reclaimed stuff in her basket and wove through the empty tables. It was still early for the staff to come in.

“Hi!” She perked up. “I’m Maya, may I help you?”

“I’m Aarya. From Amber Raisingh,” he held out his hand. His loose linen shirt was part see-through, while he wore relaxed cream wide legged pants right out of a hippie magazine. Chic, stylish and effortless. A rust-coloured hat added to the charm of his overgrown tousled curls.

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