Page 101 of 12 Years
‘Yeah? Why did she leave you then? Why did she not walk out with us that day when we went to her house? She had her fun, bro. And when it was time to get real, she wanted to marry someone more suited to her and her family.’
I stared at Mudit.
‘I know it hurts. Reality often does,’ Mudit continued. ‘That’s why humanity needs comedy clubs. To get away from it all.’
I stood up. ‘I’m going home. Is it okay if I take a few weeks off?’ I said.
‘You have acts scheduled next weekend.’
‘Cancel them. I don’t want to bomb again.’
The Home Diva account was public. I scrolled through Akanksha’s previous posts, going back two years. She had turned every major life event into a piece of content. Her posts began around the time of her marriage. Every ceremony—roka, engagement, sangeet, haldi, jaimala, kanyadaan and pheras—had multiple posts. Each post featured a long caption explaining the significance of the ceremony, how emotional she’d felt when the haldi was applied to her face, or who had designed the dresses she’d worn. Each post ended with hashtags like #blissful #grateful #lovebeingatraditionalgirl.
Even after the wedding, she continued posting about her #blissful marriage. One post was about cooking a meal for her husband for the first time. In that, she demonstrated how to make heart-shaped rotis—you roll out the dough in a flat circle, use a steel katori to cut out some bits, to make it heart-shaped, before cooking the rotis. ‘More than anything,’ the caption read, ‘a great meal for your husband must have the most important ingredient—love.’
I had to talk to Akanksha Chandak—my last hope.
I sent her a direct message:
Dear Akanksha,
This is Saket, Payal’s friend. I would like to meet you to discuss a few things. There have been some misunderstandings between Payal’s family and me, leading to a lot of distress. Since you’re Payal’s most trusted friend, I would like to explain my side to you. Then you can decide if you want to help resolve the issues between us.
With regards,
Saket Khurana
P.S. You have a wonderful Instagram account, and you’re an amazing content creator.
I added the fake flattery at the end, hoping it would help my case.
She replied an hour later:
Hi Saket,
Thank you for your compliments. I’m shooting some content videos in Kala Ghoda this Wednesday. I can meet you for coffee at the Kala Ghoda Café at 4 p.m. Does that work?
Akanksha
I fist-pumped and replied immediately, confirming our meeting.
The Kala Ghoda Café, located near Colaba, is a quaint yet spacious coffee shop. Spread over two levels, it is housed in an old heritage building, typical of the Kala Ghoda area. Its stark white interiors, however, give it a modern warehouse feel.
I was already seated in the café with a cup of black coffee when Akanksha walked in. She wore a lime-green saree with a dark-blue blouse, and had accessorized the outfit with lots of silver jewellery. Another young girl, dressed in a white T-shirt and jeans, accompanied her. She seemed like Akanksha’s assistant, carrying a selfie stick, a mic and two shopping bags full of clothes.
‘Hi,’ Akanksha said, extending her hand and taking off her sunglasses. ‘Sorry, I’m a bit late. Shoot took long. Saket, right?’
‘Yes, I’m Saket,’ I said and stood up to shake her hand. ‘And it’s okay, you aren’t that late. How was the shoot?’
‘Good. It was a collab video with a new designer launching a traditional line. This is Garima, my manager.’
‘Hi Garima,’ I said.
‘Garima, why don’t you sit upstairs and download the videos onto your laptop?’ Akanksha said.
Garima nodded and went to the upper level. Akanksha and I sat downstairs. She ordered a cappuccino and spent a few minutes taking ten photos and two videos of the coffee cup from different angles. Once she was done, she set her phone aside and turned to me.
‘Sorry, I’m collecting food content,’ she said. ‘I might launch another food-influencer account.’
