Page 136 of You Had Me At Annyeong!
No touching, no touching, only seeing, only seeing… Timira hums under her breath.Uff, Himesh is a rockstar!
On realizing that her feet are no longer on the ground, she starts to yell again.
‘Alice, Bhaskar, where are you? I’m getting kidnapped. Save me! Call the police.Hundred ko phone laga bey!’
One eye still shut, she tries to see her kidnapper with the other. But she can only see a vast expanse of creamy white poplin …or is it satin? Looks expe-hen-sive… that feels silky and rather soft to touch. But as her eyes adjust to the lights, she can finally see more. The outline of the back that the poplin fabric covers. The trees that garland Bandstand Promenade. She can smell the familiar but always heady Bombay fragrance of salt, sweat, sewer and dreams waft up her nostrils. Her kidnapper is moving at a leisurely pace; he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to make his escape with her.
I must be heavy, poor guy. Should I ask him to put me down?
‘Hello, hello. English okay?Ya Hindi?Neeche utaar dijiye mujhe, main bhagungi nahin. Bohot pee rakhi hai maine, bhag nahin paungi,’ she chuckles.
Her kidnapper only grunts in response and ignores her instruction.
Maybe he doesn’t follow Hindi. Bangla? Na na, no chance! Kidnapping someone, carrying them on your back is a lot ofwork. Fat chance my lyadkhor bangali dadas would do such a thing!
‘Bhau, tumhi Marathi bolta ka?’ She tries the local language.
Poplin kidnapper continues to ignore her.
Okay, so not Marathi manoos. Which language shall I try next?
Before she can pick one out of the two and a half Indian languages she knows, they pass by a neon streetlamp and its light falls directly over the neck and head of her kidnapper.
She freezes.
ELF EARS!
* * *
They’re sitting by the sea, and drunk Timira is desperately trying to snap out of her stupor. Hailing a coffee vendor on a bicycle, she asks for a strong cuppa.
‘Extra coffee powderdaaliye, pleeeeease!’
Relishing every sip, she finishes the coffee in no time and asks for a second cup.
‘Bhaiyya ji,idhar hi khade rahiye. Ek se mera nahin hone wala. Pilate rahiye aap.’
Haneul is watching her, fascinated.
Look at this mad woman. How did I stay away from her all this time?!
‘Would you like to try? It tastes of burnt plastic, though. Don’t whine later that I didn’t warn you.’
She speaks to Haneul as coolly as she can.
I can’t, absolutely cannot, let him know how miserable I have been. What is this behaviour? Does he think he can just land up on my birthday and I’ll forgive him for all the pain he’s caused me? Nope!
‘It’s tasteless; I don’t taste any plastic, burnt or otherwise. How are you drinking it with such relish?’ Haneul is flummoxed. That anyone could enjoy the insipid, sickeningly sweet beverage is beyond him.
‘It’s an acquired taste. You start developing it when you are on a monthly stipend of 5000 rupees. You rich chaebol will not get it. Don’t even try!’
After draining the last bits of her fifth cup, she finally feels awake and bids the vendor, who looks like he’d been captured by a ghost, adieu. Haneul is amused to see him scurry off, ignoring every call from prospective buyers.
Am I the only fool willing to risk his life to be close to this creature? Could she possibly be a ghost?
Amused by his own thoughts, Haneul smiles.
‘Where is my bag? Oh, dang, it’s back at the pub. Let me phone Alice and tell her to keep it with her. But where’s my phone?’ Timira searches frantically, patting all her pockets.
