Page 4 of You Had Me At Annyeong!
The pallu-owner had spun around to lay her eyes on a man of average height and build but with eyes that twinkled and skin that sparkled in the winter sun.
‘Thank you,’ she had nervously replied before getting dragged away by her friends.
Timira’s father’s heart sank as the pallu-owner walked away. Then, just before she went completely out of sight, she turned around one last time and smiled.
‘That made my heart do somersaults!’ her father had later admitted.
Without doing any thinking, least of all about the repercussions, he had followed her as the afternoon turned to evening. The girls took a bus; he hopped on to the same. He watched her friends getting off one after the other until she was all by herself. Seated by the window, twirling her hair around her index finger and looking out of the window with a smile. The seat next to her was vacant but her father did not have the courage to approach her.
‘What if she thought me to be a creepy stalker? After all, I did follow her. It was quite creepy, now that I think of it. I’d be livid and overcome with worry if it happened to you, Tims!’
Her father followed her as she alighted from the bus at Asiad and walked through lanes and passed bykothisthat looked alike before stopping at one with a small garden and a blue Premier Padmini parked beside it. He watched her ring the bell and beam sunnily as the door to the house opened. He watched her enter the house and shut the door as he attempted to hide behindshehtoottrees. After waiting for a good thirty minutes and beginning to feel rather foolish, he decided that he lacked the courage to see his daring approach through. Crestfallen, shoulders drooping, he had only just started to trace his steps back towards the bus stop when an Ambassador car pulled up next to him and honked loudly.
‘Marak! Is that you? Must say you are most punctual! Impressive.’
Her father could only stare.
Mr Ganguly lives here?
‘C’mon, hop in!’
Her father did as instructed and promptly sat himself next to the driver.
‘Hope it wasn’t too difficult to get here? The houses all look the same, ha ha! Can get confusing. I thought you’d be coming with Shukla. He’s familiar with the area.’
‘Er,’ her father was too bewildered to say more.
‘What was I supposed to say? I stalked a girl in your neighbourhood and followed her home?’ he had told Timira while narrating the story to her for the nth time.
‘I’m glad you turned up early. That Shukla is alate-lateefanyway. I admire punctuality. Perhaps you could teach my daughter how to be on time. Young people of your generation just don’t understand how important it is!’
Daughter? What have I walked into?
‘We are here,’ Timira’s grandfather announced as the driver leapt out of his seat and lunged at the gate to hold it open for him. Feeling embarrassed for his earlier antics and for turning up to dinner empty-handed, her father had every mind to run away. Gathering himself, he dragged his heavy legs out of the car and looked up at the house the pallu-owner had previously walked into. He could only gape in disbelief.
‘What’s wrong, Marak? Shut your mouth or a fly might go in!’ Timira’s grandfather had laughed mischievously as he walked in hurried steps towards the house.
Maybe she’s just visiting them. Maybe she’s a friend. A cousin. A family friend’s daughter. A neighbour. A nanny. A tutor. Good lord. GET A GRIP ON YOURSELF, Preston Marak!
‘What are you doing, Marak? Aren’t you cold? Come on in!’
Heart in his mouth, Timira’s father hurried in.
And there she was. Holding the door open. Smiling at Timira’s grandfather. Kissing him gently on his cheek and then taking his briefcase away.
‘Marak, come. There’s someone I’d like you to meet. My daughter, Katyayani. Kitu, this is Marak. He’s an IAS officer.’
‘P … p … Preston. It’s Preston,’ her father had stammered while wiping away beads of sweat that were putting to shame Delhi’s sweater weather.
‘Where’s your mother?’
‘She has gone over to Chaudhry aunty’s to fetch somedhonepatafrom her kitchen garden. Should be back any minute now. I’ll have Roshan bhaiyya bring out the tea and snacks.’
‘Good, good. Marak, make yourself at home. Settle in. I’ll quickly get changed and join you. Kitu, please keep him company.’
‘Of course, Baba,’ Kitu replied.
Carrying her father’s bag, Kitu took a step closer to Timira’s father and whispered, ‘You can call me Kat. But don’t worry, I don’t scratch. At least not those who take good care of my pallu and follow me home.’ With a giggle, she ran away as Timira’s father’s heart progressed from mere somersaults to the whole gamut of acrobatics.
