A Scandalous Proposition (4 page)

“You have never been a burden, Ma!” exclaimed Reema, while
Mira bit her lip, looking unconvinced. Ranbir seemed to have covered every
loophole very thoroughly, but there was a catch somewhere in this. She just had
to figure it out. Why else would
the
Ranbir Dewan of the Dewan Group of
Industries take time out from his busy schedule to compel Reema and her to stay
at Dewan Kutir? It couldn’t be just brotherly love. Even though he’d agreed to
help Tarun and Reema, he’d already voiced his doubts about the relationship.
She had no choice at the moment but to agree, now that Ma was looking at Ranbir
as if he were her personal savior.

“Well, if you’re sure, Ma?” she said at last, unwillingly.

“Good,” said Ranbir, unfurling his length from the sofa. “So
you’ll call Dadi and tell her you’re accepting her offer, Reema? And now, Mrs.
Talwar, I must go. I have an appointment in half an hour.”

≈

FIVE

Mira and Reema moved into Dewan
Kutir over the weekend. Ranbir sent a car to fetch them. As she waved goodbye
to her mother and her aunt and uncle, Mira felt a sense of unease grip her.
They looked so well-intentioned and trusting. And she would wager her new
turquoise
muqaish
-embellished
dupatta
that well-intentioned and
trustworthy were two adjectives that could not be applied to Ranbir Dewan. Not
in this situation at least.

The room they were shown into was on the top floor. It was
large and spacious with an attached bathroom and a desk in the corner near the
window. The window looked out onto a small balcony from where a short flight of
stairs led to a larger terrace. There was even a bookcase filled with books.
The wardrobe was so large that all their clothes together occupied a mere half of
it. They had reached the house in the early evening, so they had a couple of
hours to unpack and put their things away.

Mira was just putting a framed photograph of Ma and Baba on
the desk, when a knock sounded on the door. A young girl looked in. “You are to
come down for dinner. Mrs. Dewan’s orders.”

Reema gripped Mira’s hands tightly. “Go downstairs for
dinner, Di? Eat with all of them? How can we?”

“Relax, Chhoti, you had to meet the Dewans some time. Why
not now?” Mira wished she felt half as confident as she made herself sound.
I
can do this
, she told herself.
I can do this for Reema.

The family was already at the table when they went
downstairs. Tarun smiled broadly at them. Mrs. Dewan inclined her head
graciously at Reema and said, “I hope the room is comfortable? You have
everything you need?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Mira.

Ranbir looked up from his plate with a frown.

Mrs. Dewan proceeded to introduce the rest of the family. “I
thought you should eat with us instead of by yourselves in your room,” she continued.
“Of course, from tomorrow, you will be with me wherever I am, Reema. But this
floor is the common family floor and both of you are welcome to use it as you
wish.”

Mira and Reema sat down on two vacant chairs and the
hovering maids moved to serve them.

“I believe you cook at the office cafeteria, Mira,” said
Ajay Chacha in a kindly tone.

“Yes, sir,” said Mira. “I work with Dhruv Gupta.”

“Ah, we know Dhruv!” said Chacha. “A good boy, that one,
head firmly on his shoulders.”

“She’s a believer in the great Indian food tradition,”
drawled Ranbir sardonically. “Just the other day, I heard her extolling the
virtues of
aloo
paratha
s oozing with butter.”

“Ah,
aloo
paratha
s!” sighed Chacha.

“Your favorite breakfast,
beta
,” smiled Mrs. Dewan.

“Yes, Ma, I remember the wonderful
paratha
s you used
to make for us. Their aroma would fill the house and make our mouths water.
Now, thanks to Dr. Singh, all I get in the morning are sprouts and juice and,
if I am lucky, whole wheat toast without any butter.”

“Ajay, you know you have to keep your cholesterol levels
down,” remonstrated Chachi. “Ranbir has told you so often to keep oily food to
a minimum, at least till your reports come in normal.”

“Don’t worry, sir, I can make you a breakfast that is both
delicious and healthy,” said Mira confidently. “I know Mr. Dewan has some
strange ideas about
firangi
food, but Indian food, made properly, can be
just as nutritious and much tastier.”

“
Arre beta
, call me Chacha,” said the elder Mr.
Dewan. “
Chalo
, at least I have someone on my side now. What will you
make?”

“How about
paratha
s?” she smiled.

“No way,” cut in Ranbir. “Chacha is on a strict diet and is
not allowed fried food, especially potatoes.”

“But I wouldn’t fry them,” said Mira, smiling sweetly at
him. “You can cook
paratha
s in the tandoor. You can use a mixed flour
with bran in it. And, why potatoes? You can stuff
paratha
s with so many
other things—
paneer
, carrots, peas, broccoli, even soya.”

“Have you had any professional training?” asked Chachi, a
trifle disdainfully. It was plain to see that she was not too happy with the
idea of her husband treating the ‘staff’ with such familiarity.

“Yes, ma’am. But also, my mother has been very unwell and
she has become very fussy these days. I had a long talk with the nutritionist
at the hospital and she gave me lots of ideas. So we have been trying out new
recipes to tempt her into eating.”

“Di’s cooking was famous in Meerut,” Reema put in softly.

“
Achha
? Then we must get you to cook for us also,”
said Chachi. “Maji, the next time Maharaj goes on leave, we can ask Mira to
cook for us, no?”

There I am, put firmly in my place, thought Mira wryly.

A voice cut in. “Chachi, what’s the point of getting Mira to
cook for us?” asked Ranbir. “We eat simple food at home, not the kind of
catering fare she is used to making. It might be better to ask Reema to cook
for us when Maharaj goes to visit his family. She will make us the kind of food
we are used to, won’t you, Reema?”

Reema nodded shyly. “I am not as good a cook as Di, but I
can try,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mira looked down at her plate, concentrating on the
chapati
and the
gobhi ki sabzi
that reposed on it, digging her nails into her
palms to keep herself from making a sharp retort. So Ranbir was pushing Reema
forward in his family’s eyes, but he didn’t have to put her down to do that.
What did he mean catering fare?

As they got up from the table, Ranbir called out to his
cousin. “Tarun, why don’t you show the girls the rest of this floor so that
they know where everything is? Dadi, if that is okay with you, of course?” Dadi
nodded her assent and Tarun lost no time in going over to Reema’s side.

The sisters followed Tarun through the floor. Mira found
herself gawking at the luxuriously laid out space. There was a large living
room, a section of which had been used to create a TV viewing area. “In case we
all want to watch something together,” proffered Tarun helpfully. He led them
to the opposite side, “The rose garden’s this way.”

Mira’s eyes opened wide. A full-fledged garden on the third
floor? Tarun caught her incredulous look. “Dadi loves roses, so Ranbir had this
created for her when he came back from Harvard,” he explained, grinning
impishly. When Tarun opened the door to the large balcony that housed the
garden, waves of perfume from the roses greeted them.

“Di, just look at it! It’s beautiful!” exclaimed Reema.

And it was. Thick bushes laden with roses in all kinds of
colors were skirted by lengths of springy green lawn. A swing had been set up
in one corner, while comfortable-looking seats had been placed in particularly
gorgeous nooks.

“Dadi used to love the garden, but now that she has to use
the wheelchair, she finds it difficult to go up and down, despite the lift. So
Ranbir had this garden created here since this is a floor she uses often,”
Tarun explained before leading them inside once again.

“Kitchen here,” he said next, “though I don’t think you’ll
need to use it. There’s a bell near the bed in your room. Just ring it if you
want tea, coffee, anything to eat.”

“Oh no,” said Reema, who had perked up considerably once the
rest of the family had faded away. “We can easily come down and make ourselves
something if we need to.”

Tarun shook his head at her fondly, and she gazed back at
him shyly. Mira looked at both of them, feeling decidedly
de trop
.

“Umm, I think I’ll go up to our room,” she said, and slipped
away without either of them noticing. Once in her room, she sat on the bed,
wondering what to do with herself. It was only 8.30, too early to sleep. She
didn’t feel like fiddling around with the flat-screen TV in the room. And she
was too restless in her new surroundings to relax and read. She stepped out on
to the balcony and climbed up the stairs to the terrace.

A vague unease continued to nag at her as she strolled up
and down in the cool night. Her thoughts kept turning to Ranbir, her mind
whirring with unanswered questions. Why had he gone to so much trouble to get
her here? He had been so inventive on Tarun’s behalf in getting Reema into the
family home, but surely he needn’t have tossed her into the equation. And then
there was the way he had behaved with her family and the way she was seeing him
behave at home—quiet and unfailingly courteous and caring to everyone around
him. Dhruv, too, had only good things to say about him, and Jasmine, as little
as she had seen of her, seemed to adore him. She could not reconcile this image
of Ranbir with the man she herself had encountered—the arrogant, passionate
playboy who had expected her to fall into his bed at the snap of his fingers.

“Thinking of me?” Ranbir’s deep voice broke into her
reverie.

She whirled around. “Of course not! Why are you here?”

He looked at her quizzically, “It’s my home, you know.”

Mira blushed. “I’m sorry,” she faltered. “It’s just that I
thought I was alone.”

Ranbir fell into step with her and they took a few rounds of
the terrace.

Mira was the first to break the silence. “I hope it works
out for Reema and Tarun,” she said. “He seems a nice boy.”

She had been quite impressed, in fact, by Tarun, and the way
his eyes softened every time he looked at Reema, but she needed to see more of
him before she would commit herself any further. It was a question of her
sister’s happiness after all.

Ranbir looked at her intently. “And what about you?” he
asked. “Don’t you have any dreams of your own? Or are you content to help your
younger sister make her way through life?”

“Reema was very ill when she was a baby,” said Mira softly.
“Since then, it’s become a habit with all of us to look after her, help her
wherever we can.”

“So much so that you molly-coddle her?”

Mira looked at him indignantly. “I do not molly-coddle her,”
she said, bristling. “I look after her.”

“You take over her life,” said Ranbir, studying her flushed
cheeks. “Come on, Mira, you don't even let her answer questions that are posed
directly to her. I’m sure she’s quite a different person when you’re not around.”

“What do you mean?” she stormed.

“She’s a smart and confident young woman, or at least she
seems to be. But when you’re in the vicinity, she starts blathering like a
child.”

“She does not,” cried Mira. “She isn’t able to handle
everything on her own. That is why we—all of us, Ma, Baba and me—we look after
her and protect her.”

“You’re not protecting her, Mira,” said Ranbir, stepping
closer, “you’re cocooning her, maybe even stifling her?” He put out a hand to
brush away a strand of hair that the breeze had blown onto her face. “I can
understand you want to protect her. I feel the same way about Tarun. I remember
the day when he was born. Dadi took me to the nursing home to see him—he was so
tiny. When his little fingers curled tight around my finger, I felt so big, so
protective. But that doesn’t mean I’ll hold his hand forever. I have to let him
make his own mistakes, to learn from those mistakes.”

Mira stared up at him, half-mesmerized by his fingers
stroking her cheek. “And you think Reema is a mistake?” she murmured.

“I did, but now…” said Ranbir softly, his finger moving
lower to where her neck began, still stroking gently. “Mira, let Reema live her
own life. Let her get to know the family and let the family get to know her.
How else will our plan work? Our best bet right now is to just let things take
their own course.”

Mira looked up at him wonderingly. She could feel his breath
on her face. He smelled of mint and the smoky aftershave he used. She felt
soothed, lulled, yet a strange fire was leaping up in her veins.

“Then why did you insist on getting me here?” she asked
directly.

“Do you know what you do to me, Mira?” he asked, still
teasing the soft skin of her neck. “I seem to be obsessed with you. I think of
you first thing in the morning, last thing at night. During meetings, I find
myself thinking of you, of the way your lashes veil your eyes like now, the way
your hair curls around your cheek like this, your ridiculously glittery
bindi
,
the clamor of your bangles and your anklets. They fill my head. Surely, you
also feel something—I’ve felt your response.”

“Ranbir, I…” She hesitated for a moment, then looked up at
him frankly. “You know, there’s no point in this. You see me as a toy, which
you want right now, but which you will tire of when you’ve had enough. And
where would that leave me? The society in which I live does not permit
indulgences of the kind you seek. I would be ruined, Ma-Baba would be shamed if
I agreed to become your mistress.”

“So, you’re tempted?” he pressed.

“It would be difficult to say no,” she replied honestly. “I
have never felt like this before. But my saying yes would have disastrous
consequences, not just for me, but for all those whom I love. In our world,
such relationships are usually preceded by social sanction and marriage.”

A cruel light gleamed in Ranbir’s eyes. “Is that your game
then?” he asked grimly. “If you think I’m going to marry you for the pleasure
of bedding you, let me disabuse you of the notion.”

Mira shuddered at the viciousness in his voice.

“We belong in different worlds, you and I, Ranbir,” she said
quietly. “So let me go.”

≈