A Home for Urvashi: A Novel

By Sanchali Bhattacharya

Death separates Dulari from her beloved twin sister, Ujjwala. Forlorn, her spirit remains on Earth as a powerless but constant companion to Ujjwala. Like the apsara Urvashi, she has the power to travel between worlds but no family, no one to love.Dulari has a dream: she hopes to be reborn as Ujjwala's daughter and find a home for herself. Twenty-nine years have gone by, but her dream remains unfulfilled. There is hope, though, for Ujjwala has a son and now longs for a daughter. Then arrives a man from Ujjwala's past. His presence upsets her life and sets into motion a series of events that threaten to destroy her completely. Only Dulari can save her sister, but to do that, she must relinquish her dream. Sensitively written and evocative, A Home for Urvashi depicts the bond of sisterhood that goes beyond life and death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harper India
• Release date: Oct 10, 2017
• ISBN: 9789352773558

Sanchali Bhattacharya

An electrical engineer from Jadavpur University, Sanchali Bhattacharya is a director of her own engineering and manufacturing company. Sanchali's short stories have featured in The Statesman. Sanchali Bhattacharya is married and has a son. She lives in Kolkata.

Book preview

ONE

I DIED THE DAY I was born. A few hours old, nameless, lifeless. My twin survived. She is Ujjwala. My precious Ujjwala.

A shadowy ghost to the world, I stole away to my mother. With her, even the star-speckled void beyond the earth seems cosy. I can’t remember what it feels like to be warm, but for me, warmth means her smile and her unconditional love. She calls me Dulari. I adore Mother. She is forever affectionate and forgiving, as mothers are. She lives in the sky.

Infinite space stretches around me, its dark expanse interrupted here and there by massive orbs. Dots of colour in the distance: one blushing red, another pearlescent and yet another a starting spot of yellow. Beyond them, a tiny sparkle to the naked eye, lies my mother. Full and rounded, with a scintillating waistband, she is the most beautiful of them all.

I have confidence in her good judgement, because she’s not a spectre like me. She has mass, volume and, most importantly, great knowledge. I know she can help me through anything.

‘My child,’ she says, as I rush into her arms.

‘Mother, help me. What should I do now?’ I ask.

‘Everything will be fine, Dulari,’ she says, holding me tight.

I feel her soothing presence enveloping me. ‘Mother,’ I say, finding strength, ‘did I make the wrong choice?’

‘No, you made the right decision,’ she says, stroking my face gently. ‘It was definitely right at that point in time.’

‘But not anymore? Is that what you are saying, Mother?’

‘No, my child. It is true that the situation is different now. But difficult times do not last forever. Fortune will soon smile upon you. And Ujjwala.’

‘But, Mother, won’t it be selfish to wish for rebirth when I can do so much to help her?’

‘Ujjwala is smart and capable. She knows how to cope with the pressures of life. Your future will be rosy.’

I sigh. ‘Hope has kept me going, Mother. But now I’m not so sure. Have I been too self-centred? I have this terrible feeling that all I have ever cared about is my own happiness.’

‘Ujjwala has faced dangers since her birth. Why do you look so frightened today?’ asks Mother, furrowing her brow.

‘True, Ujjwala has overcome her hurdles, but not all dangers are alike. This is her darkest hour. Yet I watch helplessly.’

‘I can feel Ujjwala’s distress, my child. I know that you are racked by guilt.’ Mother blinks back her tears.

‘What should I do, Mother?’ I ask when she regains her composure. ‘Do I have a future on Earth? Should I just go and claim my share of happiness or should I linger here for Ujjwala’s sake?’

Mother’s face grows solemn. ‘Dulari, I am your mother and naturally, your happiness is my first concern. If I could, I would solve Ujjwala’s problems and shower upon you the joys that destiny denied. But both cannot be. You will have to decide.’

A smooth little stone rubs my back. Neither the massage nor her sagacious words ease my angst. I stand at a crossroads. ‘Dulari,’ Mother says, sensing my dilemma, ‘if you care about Ujjwala, you will do anything for her sake. I will not ask you to abandon your dream in haste. But sacrifice is the greatest act of love, and I know that you truly love her.’

I look up at her as she continues sombrely, ‘Dulari, you were an infant when you arrived here. For me, you are still a baby. But twenty-nine years have passed. Now you are a woman. I am sure you will act with the maturity that befits your age.’

‘It’s hard, Mother. I know I should be selfless, but my dream of rebirth, my hopes…’

Icicles enfold me; she is hugging me again. ‘Dulari, you are my brave child,’ she says, rolling slightly to plant a kiss on my cheek. ‘Come closer. Let me hold you tight. Let me give you all my love and strength. Think it over, my child.’

Relaxed in her embrace, I lie still. Time crawls like a snail.

‘What has my courageous daughter decided?’ Mother asks at last.

‘I can’t make up my mind. Mother, you know how horribly confused I am. Please decide for me. I shall accept your decision and execute it as an order.’

‘Dulari, my heart and mind are in conflict. I would suggest that you speak to a neutral entity. Perhaps a scholar from the University of Souls?’

As she speaks, I feel the ripple of soft steps sailing over the ice, rocks and dust surrounding us.

‘Beral is here!’ says Mother with utmost delight.

I turn to see a cat, resplendent with its shiny green eyes and shinier black fur. It rushes to Mother and rubs against her.

‘Mother,’ says the cat. ‘I’m all set for my last life on earth. Please give me your blessings.’

Mother often told me about Beral, a cat which had been lost in the void until Mother gave her love and shelter. Her story is quite similar to mine, except that Beral was reborn seven times after she first met Mother.

‘Dulari,’ Mother says turning to me, ‘this is my elder daughter, Beral. She is your spiritual sister.’

I greet her and she extends her paw.

Mother goes on, ‘Beral has lived eight of her nine lives and is ready for the last one.’

I watch them as they hold on to each other for a long time. Suddenly Mother speaks up. ‘Beral, are you in a hurry to be reborn?’

‘Not really.’

‘In that case, do accompany Dulari to the University of Souls.’

‘With pleasure, Mother,’ Beral says with a purr.

‘Mother, the ghosts at the university are powerful and educated. How will I face them? And what if evil spirits attack us on the way?’ I ask.

Mother rubs my hand lovingly. ‘Nothing of that sort will happen. Moreover, Beral will be with you.’

‘Please, Mother, I don’t want to travel all the way to the university. Time’s running out.’

‘Dulari, this is a lame excuse. Time will not be a problem,’ she says firmly.

I am familiar with this tone and decide not to argue. Furthermore, Mother is wise and I ought to take her advice.

‘Daree will take you there,’ Mother says. Parting brings tears to her eyes. Beral’s eyes turn glassy and so do mine. Meanwhile, Daree has arrived and waits for us.

Daree is one of the finest and smartest rocks in Mother’s rings. Intelligent, compassionate and intuitive, he is a flat white slab. With exquisite patterns adorning his surface, he is quite like a rolled-out scroll – or a flying carpet. And I adore his baritone.

I sit on Daree with a heavy heart. Beral hops on and I hear Mother’s parting words. ‘Choose wisely, Dulari.’

Daree zooms out of her rings.

‘Daree, before we leave the sun’s realm, please take us close to Earth,’ I request.

He flies past Jupiter and Mars. There, at a distance, blue Earth smiles.

‘I’ll return soon,’ I say. ‘Vir, my little nephew, the apple of my eye, I will come to your rescue. Ujjwala, my precious, my moon, my sun, I’ll find a way to help you out of this crisis.’ I blow kisses at them even as tears stream down my face.

Beral watches, but she is quiet.

‘Let us go,’ Daree says. ‘We have light years to travel.’

The stars have turned up in large numbers and seem to be having a party. They glitter in their revelry. A cluster of newborn stars glows softer than the rest – delicate and fresh in their amber clouds. ‘We are celebrating our birth. Join us, pretty ladies,’ they say.

‘Thanks, but I can’t. I’m on my way to Atma.’

‘Good luck,’ they shout in chorus.

Atma – the galaxy of souls. Rooh is the largest star of this galaxy, and revolving around it are two giant planets: Satatma and Duratma. Satatma, the planet of pious spirits, is our destination.

We hurtle through space. Distant worlds whiz past as we dart through sprays of chiselled stones, debris perhaps from another time. Yet, not once does Daree collide with these chunks of rock.

In the far distance, I see a shimmering glow. Daree slows down to let it zoom by. It is a comet, burning like Ujjwala. I begin to sob. Beral moves close to me and rubs against my arm. I know little about Beral; yet, I like her now. Her touch is affectionate and her closeness reassuring.

Daree revs up again and after a tumultuous journey, we arrive at Atma’s periphery. We still have a long distance to travel, but Daree steers towards a massive asteroid with a quaint little inn.

‘I will have to rest for a while. You can check into the hotel,’ he says, landing smoothly.

Beral and I register into the last available room. She settles on the bed and stretches her sleek body. ‘I’m thrilled and sad at the same time,’ she says, breaking the silence between us.

‘Why?’

‘Well, first of all I am glad because once this life is over, I won’t be bothered by barking dogs and meddling vets. This’ll be my ninth life, my last one as a cat.’

‘So if life is such a pain, why did you opt to live all nine of them?’ I ask.

‘For many reasons. The main one being the joy of making kittens. The pulsating agony experienced in creating life remains unrivalled. Being mother to my babies comes next – to nurture and enable them to grow into distinguished cats. I have given birth to 604 kittens in my eight lives. That makes me great-grandma to at least a hundred thousand living cats on earth. Then of course, there’s all that scrumptious fish, Dulari. The greatest creation after cats. I’ll miss them and my human servants too.’

‘Human servants?’

‘Yeah, I never lived in the alleys. I was always a pet, living it up in big shelters with humans to cater to my every need. They gave me food, kept my fur clean, patted me … oh, they did so much! Best of all, I was lucky to have lived with humans who never neutered me. I like humans.’ After a pause, Beral asks, ‘Dulari, you haven’t gotten over your death, have you?’

‘Death? Oh, that happened years ago. Look how I’ve grown since then.’

She tilts her head, running her eyes over my face. ‘So you waited to grow up?’

‘No, no. I did wait, but not to grow up,’ I reply with a sigh. ‘Did Mother ever tell you about me? About my dream of rebirth?’

‘She told me she had another daughter, a human child. I had hoped to meet you some day, but I was always rushing back to Earth for rebirth.’

I smile, but Beral’s piercing gaze makes me uneasy.

‘Dulari, you’re here with me, but your mind’s on Earth, isn’t it?’ she asks.

How did she know? Before I can speak, she rubs her furry body against my arm. ‘I don’t like that troubled look. What’s so disturbing? Tell me, Dulari,’ she urges.

‘My story? I died the day I was born.’

‘I don’t get it. What have you been doing all this time, since then?’

‘I’ve moved with my sister Ujjwala as faithfully as time. From the games of infancy to the responsibilities of adulthood, through school and college, accomplishments and setbacks, I’ve travelled with her. Ujjwala, however, doesn’t even know I exist.’

‘You just hung around your sister? You’ve been floating around aimlessly?’

Beral looks horrified. So I counter hastily, ‘Look, I’ve always been formless and weightless, but not aimless. Every moment of every day, I have dreamt of sweet rebirth. Rebirth to none but Ujjwala. She’s at the core of my dream. I’ve looked forward to leading a life with her. A real life. As somebody she would love. I desperately wanted to be reborn as her sister, but when that didn’t happen, I waited to be born as her daughter.’

‘If you’ve waited this long, you shouldn’t give up,’ Beral says squarely.

‘It’s not like I want to, but Ujjwala’s in danger. She needs my help.’

‘Hmm,’ says Beral. ‘Can’t she handle her own affairs?’

‘Ujjwala is courageous. She’s braved adversities in her life, and each time she’s made it through. But it’s different this time. The damage could be irreversible. If I opt for Ujjwala’s happiness, I’ll lose my dream. It is tantalizingly beautiful. I want to hold it tight, but with every passing moment I see it slip through my fingers.

‘But I haven’t reached a decision. Ujjwala is strong. There are moments when I feel she can fight this battle. I love Ujjwala a lot. And there is a child I love even more than her – her son, Vir. I’m confused, Beral. Ujjwala’s at the heart of my dream. But she’s also keeping me from it.’

I shut my eyes and take a deep breath.

Beral has been listening intently. ‘Well,’ she says, ‘I’m your sister too. I could help you make up your mind. Tell me who’s trying to hurt Ujjwala.’

She sounds caring. I want to trust her and have a feeling that she is a fine cat. But I hesitate. I have never discussed Ujjwala’s problems with anyone, except Mother. Also, Ujjwala has forever been cagey about her life. Should I discuss her intimate issues with my newfound friend?

‘I am waiting,’ reminds Beral.

‘I do not know where to begin.’

‘Birth, of course. That is where stories on Earth begin.’

‘Birth?’

I blink hard and swallow harder. ‘Beral, give me your paw. Let me hold you tight,’ I say with enormous effort.

‘Was it that bad? Your death? Her life?’

‘I don’t know when or to whom we were born. I have never cared about that, anyway. Let me begin her story with what happened a few months ago, when she wasn’t in the situation she is today and I was not where I am now.’

Beral rolls her eyes. ‘You love to confuse things.’

I stroke her fur. ‘Even a few Earth months ago, I was a happy and hopeful spirit living alongside my sister and her family in Calcutta. Oops! I mean Kolkata.’

‘Is it Calcutta or Kolkata?’

‘The original name of this place was Kolikata. It was changed to Calcutta by the British. Now the city is called Kolkata, but I simply can’t get Calcutta out of my system.’

‘Stick with Calcutta then. So where is this city?’

‘It is in India, and India is in Asia, South Asia. Do you know about Earth’s landmass?’

Beral loves land. She knows about the blocks of landmass on Earth, but admits that her knowledge of man-made boundaries amounts to zero. I spend the next few minutes explaining the basics of Earth’s geopolitical divisions to Beral. She is as brilliant as she is beautiful and grasps the details effortlessly.

‘Go ahead, Dulari. Tell me everything.’

‘I do not like being interrupted,’ I warn.

‘A few now and then?’ she bargains.

‘Not too many.’

She accepts and I begin.

‘Each morning, I would sit beside Ujjwala as she drove to her office, and spend the day watching her at work. I took breaks to check on Vir, and on holidays I roamed through the streets of Calcutta, savouring the delights and perils of this city …’

TWO

THE FIRST MONDAY OF JULY. At last the asphalt-melting phase of summer had come to an end. Monsoons had hit the eastern coast of India, bringing much-needed relief to Calcutta.

After an overnight deluge, the mercury had dipped and the morning was cool. As the city gained momentum, I floated on a woolly white cloud and watched. Trams, taxis, cars, scooters, rickshaws, buses and people jostled for a share of the roads. Calcutta bustled.

What do I say about Calcutta? Buildings, old and crumbling, narrate the story best – one that is more than three hundred years old. So do the overburdened sewage system, crying out for repair, and the public buses that were once a shiny red, now begging for rest. Trams clang mournfully, clinging to sagging wires. The roads, wrinkled as an old destitute’s face – spotted with age, pitted with potholes, abuse and neglect.

But the angel of hope still resides in the hearts of the people. New flyovers in several parts of the city, as well as malls and multiplexes, attempt to improve the situation. But the construction of flyovers progresses as slowly and painfully as reconstructive surgery, and placatory signboards – ‘Today’s pain is tomorrow’s gain’ – do little to ease the prolonged suffering. I was glad when the AJC Bose flyover was inaugurated. It made commuting less difficult for my sister.

From above, I watched Ujjwala drive her white Toyota to work. She drove with care, as one has to in Calcutta traffic. Roads are seldom wide, vehicles are old and plentiful and pedestrians dart across the streets without concern.

That Monday morning the drive was singularly unusual – for me at least. So listen carefully, dear Beral, as I narrate this uncanny experience.

It was 7.20 a.m. when Ujjwala’s car rolled onto the flyover. I joined her. We were headed east and the sun shone on our faces. Ujjwala’s spotless cheeks glowed, as did her luxuriant dark hair. Sunbeams sparkled on the windscreen. There was little traffic on the flyover this early, and the short unchecked drive exhilarated me. But my joy disappeared when she descended at Circus Avenue. Swarming traffic greeted us at the crossing, where seven roads meet. Traffic moved a few inches at a time. Ujjwala knew she would have to wait. Her car was close to the Park Circus Connector. To her left was Circus Maidan. In winter, the park would turn into a circus ground: the previous year, a board with blinking lights had boasted ‘Jubilee Circus’. How I had admired the banner on the red, yellow and blue big top! Ujjwala and Vir had visited the circus. Images from the show flitted through my mind – a young girl with three hoops twirling around her body, an elephant hitting a football with a cricket bat, a chimpanzee riding a bicycle. They’d had a grand time. So had I.

A jolt brought me back to the morning mayhem. A bicycle had bumped against Ujjwala’s car. She stepped out as the cyclist moved away without an apology. Thankfully there were no dents; just a little scratch on the rear door. Ujjwala sighed as she settled back into her car.

All the streets that met at the crossing were now burdened with traffic. An overcrowded yellow school bus filled with chattering children waited beside us. A scooter wove in and out of traffic, leaving us far behind. Vehicles crawled between strings of buildings: old buildings with domes, arches and columns had learned to befriend the new ones, modelled after cubes and cuboids. The newest structures, with asymmetrical designs and polished glass facades, shone in the morning light.

Ujjwala listened to music. She enjoyed ghazals. Her face was calm, but she cracked her knuckles constantly and her palms perspired, though her car was air-conditioned. I had a feeling that she was nervous. For the past week, she had been trying to look normal, a carefree smile glued to her pretty lips. It had seemed like pretence to me. She was adept at concealing her emotions. I could not read her thoughts, but managed to judge many of her feelings through her actions and expressions. After all, she was my sister.

I still had no idea why she was on edge. A thorough scan of her soft brown eyes yielded nothing. But I deduced that for some strange reason she did not mind the delay. On the contrary, she was thankful to be sitting in her car, far away from her office. However, I was losing patience.

Mother often says that when frustrated, one should look around and observe the world. So I did. A public bus inched along Park Circus Connector. Passengers stood cheek-by-jowl, virtually holding each other up. I heard the bus conductor shout, ‘Aastay, ladies’, asking the driver to slow down so a lady could alight. The driver did not bother to get to the bus stop. He just halted in the middle of the road. A woman stepped out, looking irate because a taxi was trying to make its way past the bus, and she was caught between them. The taxi driver looked equally upset and gave full vent to his anger, yelling, ‘Suar ka bachcha!’ Piglets are so cute. I fail to understand why calling somebody a pig’s offspring is an abuse.

Ujjwala, meanwhile, had turned her attention to the footpath. There was little room for pedestrians on the walkway. It was blocked by vendors selling their wares. Baskets overflowed with vegetables. I could not see what was so fascinating about potatoes, onions and pumpkins, but Ujjwala watched happily.

At long last, a policeman blew his shrill whistle and raised his hand, signalling us to proceed. Ujjwala’s car cruised through Park Circus Connector. I was afraid we would have to wait again at the signal near No. 4 Bridge, but we were lucky. Ours was the last car to get past before the light turned red.

Up, up over the bridge the car climbed, ignoring the filth lying below on the vast rail tracks. A crowded suburban train, painted a shoddy green, galloped underneath. We drove past a mosque and I heard the morning azaan as it blared from a speaker fixed atop a minaret. I knew only the languages that Ujjwala spoke. Yet, uncannily, the Arabic words of the prayer made sense, telling me through every syllable that I had been warned of the future and must pray now for my sister.

Nonsense, I thought. Ujjwala is fine. What is there to pray for?

The car dived down the bridge to arrive at the wider expanse of road near Tiljala crossing. The street here was waterlogged. Ujjwala gently pressed her foot on the brakes to slow down as her car ploughed through the drowned road. The water rippled but pedestrians, umbrellas tucked under their arms, were unharmed.

Shortly, she gained higher ground and the road became visible again. Just ahead of her, two private buses raced neck to neck. They were operating on the same route and the drivers had thrown caution to the wind. Their unbuttoned shirts fluttered in the breeze as they tried to reach the next stop ahead of the other. Competition was fierce. The vehicles were dangerously close. As one overtook the other, the drivers screamed obscenities. The bus conductors, in their wet rubber slippers and greasy pants folded up to their knees, seemed calm. Terrified passengers held on to their seats for dear life. I prayed for their safety. I pray for the safety of pedestrians and bikers who die under the killer buses of Calcutta every day. But sardonic laughter rose from the turning wheels of all the vehicles around. Pray for Ujjwala, they emphasized.

Why? I asked, time and time again. Ujjwala is a cautious driver. Why do I have this strange feeling of fear?

I had stopped looking out of the window, but we must have driven through the Eastern Metropolitan Bypass, beside verdant fields aglow in the sunlight, past vendors who sell produce from their gardens every morning. We had taken the Chingrighata flyover to enter Salt Lake City and travelled past the glittering lake at Nalban. We had certainly left behind Nicco Park, and at 8 Ujjwala arrived at her office, a twelve-storey building in Salt Lake. Karma Chambers – the name shone in steel lettering.

Ujjwala walked in and I followed, greeting the security personnel dressed in navy-blue uniforms with shiny metal buttons and caps embossed with the company’s logo. I smiled gently at the receptionist with very white arms who perpetually wore sleeveless blouses, come summer or winter. I had always been courteous and well-mannered with Ujjwala’s colleagues. It did not matter that nobody ever responded.

Six years ago, Ujjwala had joined a company named Karma Electronics. A young company, barely eleven years old, it was nevertheless a considerable new member of the huge Karma Group of Industries. The electronics wing of this giant conglomerate, it had a valuable reserve of loyal clients and offices in all the major cities of the country.

Over time Ujjwala had earned her stripes, outperforming all her peers three years in a row. The company rewarded her with an early promotion, a hefty bonus and recognition throughout the country. For over a year she had been the manager of her department, and she was second in command in the marketing and sales section in eastern India. She had made me proud when she was given the title of ‘Achiever of the Year’ in the company magazine.

I rode the lift with her up to the eighth floor. She arrived at her desk and began work. I remembered that a group of new recruits had joined Karma Electronics and that Ujjwala had a presentation to make at nine.

Her office was classy. What I liked most about it was the wooden panelling. The walls were painted a deep shade of cream, and the chairs were upholstered in a rust-coloured silk-cotton fabric. Sunshine streamed in through open blinds placed over large windows. Rows of lush potted plants added a sense of serenity. Of course, I felt far from calm that day.

To reduce the stress, I sat on Ujjwala’s desk and hummed a devotional song. I wanted to be close to her. She neither sighed nor frowned, yet I intuitively felt that she was anxious.

She was scanning through a set of slides that she had prepared a year ago when she had made a similar presentation to a group of new hires. It was an introductory presentation on marketing and sales. The slides needed to be updated to present the developments that had taken place in the department in the past year.

At 8.30, her slides were revised and ready. She walked out of the department and crossed the landing to the opposite wing on the same floor. Her steps brisk, she strode past a coffee-vending machine and reached the ladies’ room. Out came a hairband and her make-up kit. She pushed her hair back with the band and splashed cool water on her face. Dab-dab with a tissue. Moisturizer, powder, eyeliner and lipstick followed.

I often wonder whether I would have looked like her had I survived. I can see my pale limbs and dark tresses, but I’ve never seen my face. The mirrors of Ujjwala’s world cannot show my reflection. At school, I had attended physics classes with her and learned about light waves and the need for a physical barrier to stop them, but science did not make me feel better. I was extremely disappointed with everything that passed through me and did not allow me to materialize.

Ujjwala added another dab of powder to her pert nose, brushed her silky hair and checked her white dress. Her soft smile told me that she was satisfied with her appearance. Her dress flapped around her slender legs as she walked down to the human resources department.

Whenever Ujjwala had a presentation to make, I got the ‘butterflies in my stomach’ sensation. Over the years I had discovered that the best remedy for my nervousness was to get a feel of the place before she began. So I whizzed ahead to reach the spacious auditorium on the fifth floor.

The hall had been decorated in modern colours. The laminates on the doors and desks were a soft blue, while the walls were painted in a lighter shade of the same colour. The room, the chairs, the windows, the microphone and even the upholstery looked fresh to me. There was something vital in the room that morning. Why did I suddenly feel happy and alive? What had driven my fears away?

That was when I noticed a young man, a tall, dashing figure in a crisp white shirt and black trousers. I loved his well-groomed look. His thick dark hair went very well with his radiant skin.

At the stroke of 9, Ujjwala entered. The HR manager had accompanied her, and he began the proceedings.

‘Good morning, everybody.’ His loud voice boomed around the hall.

The room was still. He looked at the bright young professionals. Their eyes were glued on Ujjwala.

‘Are you with me?’

His question broke the trance and the trainees turned their attention to him. The suave man in the white shirt did not. This nudged my curiosity and I walked over to him. The badge pinned to his shirt read ‘Sooraj Saxena’.

‘Sooraj Saxena,’ I said twice. Nice name.

The HR manager then introduced Ms U. Singh, the marketing and sales manager, and Ujjwala took over. Her pleasant voice resonated all around the room as she spoke, in complete command of the presentation she was making. The new hires sat spellbound.

While Ujjwala’s audience sat in rapture, I watched Sooraj rather unabashedly, enjoying the privilege of being invisible. A striking face with dark deep-set eyes, a straight narrow nose and a well-shaped mouth. He sat with his long legs crossed in front of him. His right hand rested under his prominent chin and he held a pen in the other.

At the end of the presentation there was a short question–answer session. On