Chapter Five: Welcome to the Patil Manor. Remove shoes and leave dignity outside, please.
"Sorry sir, there are no other seats available, the flight is full."
He smiled as he thanked the steward, albeit with a clenched jaw. He wouldn't mind normally, in fact this is how he normally travelled, even when work insisted on business or first class., partly to irk his father, but mostly because he enjoyed watching people. As stalkerish and creepy as that sounded, Dutta loved to marvel at people. It both amused and elated him that spending mere moments with someone-perhaps during a flight, perchance in a queue, or even while holding the door open for someone-could result in relationships of a lifetime.
Most often these strangers we'd meet, be it fellow passengers, shoppers, or pedestrians we'd never see again. Their faces would slowly fade from memory. But perhaps one day out of the blue, while riding the elevator, humming a tune, or even dreaming their face my pop back again and say hello. But infrequently, the unusual would happen. Some referred to it as the collision of stars, others call it the red thread of destiny some even scientifically try to prove it through either Newton's law or the String Theory, but that person you once had a brief encounter with, may return. May be just the once, may be not in the capacity you would have liked, but they return. Sometimes the return is singular, maybe a chance to say a proper goodbye, but sometimes, not often, that person keeps coming back. It could be weeks, months, or even years, perhaps even a lifetime later, but that person is there, always there. Waiting to bump into you, again.
The lady sat on Dutta's right, had now completely dropped her head on his shoulder. His right shoulder. As much as he tried, even his vigorous penmanship did not seem to disturb-or rather as Dutta was trying-to wake her from her deep slumber.
"Aah, Mr Patil, there is a seat available if you still wish to upgrade."
Dutta didn't even spare a second, replying instantly, already half way up his seat he said smiling broadly;
"Yes please, Merci beacoup..." Dutta glanced at the steward's nametag;
"Francois"
"Ok sir, please follow me." Francois replied.
"Gladly" Dutta muttered, as he fiercely tugged his shoulder from beneath the lady and grabbed his bag.
Dutta followed Francois to the front of the plane; indeed the flight was full;
Paris is beautiful this time of year' he thought.
"Here you go sir," Francois gestured, as he added pointing to the overhead cabinet;
"Your bag, just here sir." Dutta passed him his bag, to which Francois replied;
"Merci"
Dutta smiled back at him, as he settled himself down, he'd just gotten comfortable when he noted those same red cheeks.
This makes four, Rosie' He thought to himself.
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Three years had passed since Dutta, had flown out of Thailand. He had managed to catch a lift with the medical crew in Phuket, except much to his irritation Dr Jain had not been on the same bus. He didn't know the exact details but something had come up. Either way, he couldn't help but kick himself, he didn't even have her number.
I guess that's the end of that chapter' he had thought to himself through gritted teeth.
But why was Dutta, now three years later thinking of her? Actually that was a wrong question to ask, in the past three years, Dutta's life had changed a lot. He'd moved from the American East coast for one, and now lived in London. (Another job promotion) having been made head of foreign correspondence at a top news channel had its perks, even if he found the world around him hadn't changed much. Still the same wars, still the same conflicts, still the same root of all problems: money. Sure the New Year was within hand's reach, it promised great things. Heck Obama had even become president. It looked as though the world had finally voted for change. But Dutta knew better than that. Nothing had changed at all.
It was moments like these that he would sit back and reflect on his life, his school days with Baji, his college days at Yale, to his travel-and that would bring him back to Thailand. Probably one the worst natural disasters that had occurred, that he had been a part of, that he experienced. Of course, since then there had been a lot too-Hurricane Katrina, London 7/7 bombings, to name but a few, all which Dutta had been a part of. But for some reason it was Thailand that always stuck in his mind. May be it was the fact that he'd come close to his own end, or maybe it was that he had divulged some of the deepest thoughts he possessed to a complete stranger who he'd not seen nor heard since. Either way, it didn't matter what Dutta would be doing-eating, watching tv, driving-it didn't matter who he talked to-Baji, his colleagues, his dentist-but something or the other would oft remind him of Thailand. More specifically of Rosie.
But whatever Nakusha related thoughts that had clouded Dutta's mind had departed soon as he landed at JFK international and much to his annoyance, upon arrival Dutta saw his name on a placard held by Mr Simmons, the Patil resident chauffeur. It wasn't that Dutta had anything against Mr Simmons, if anything he loved Don, but if Don had been sent to pick Dutta up, it meant one thing, he was headed to Patil Manor. The last place he wanted to be.
Sure Dutta had flown back to, his hometown, but he'd been under the impression that Baji was picking him up; well at least that's what he'd been told.
Ghaddha' Dutta fumed, cursing Baji under his breath, he made his way over to Don.
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Nostalgia-it fills you with warmth, with a lingering sense of familiarity; it raises a desire, an ache, a long, a need to be back somewhere that you once called home. Well at least that's what he should have felt. But when Dutta stepped through those infamous gates, he still felt nothing. He thought anger may at some point meet his acquaintance, but alas no. He felt nothing. Apathy. That was it; Dutta was indifferent to being stood in the house he once grew up in. Dutta was indifferent towards the house he had learned to walk and talk in. Dutta was indifferent to the house he had been banished from. Dutta was indifferent to the fact that the last time he had been stood on the exact same porch he'd vouched to never return.
Naturally, nothing had changed. The water feature up front, the rose bushes, the pear trees, the counted to perfection pebbles along the front driveway, all of it was the same. The world around Patil Manor may evolve, may change, may move forward, but Patil Manor was a chasm, one that stood still. Months, years, decades, centuries would go by, but it would stand just as proud, just as tall, with no skin of its nose.
The inside was even worse, behind all the marble, mahogany and pretentious display of artwork, the house still remained the same. Growing up, Dutta had always felt on the outside, he didn't feel comfortable, as though something was always missing, and yet today standing there as a twenty-something year old, he felt even more of an outsider. Even more of a stranger stood in his proverbial kingdom. Everything was still sparkly clean, the house staff still terrorised by mother dearest, and worst of all, the portrait still hung in all its glory, greeting anyone and everyone who happened to (unfortunately in Dutta's eyes) arrive at their home.
"Sir, can I take you bag," Dutta didn't recognise the brunette;
Must be new' he thought
"No thank you, I have arms I can manage" Dutta replied back coolly.
The maid looked quite startled; clearly she was not used to change.
"Emilia, kitchen now." A stern voice called
Dutta had felt her presence before he heard her. Her scent always wafted into the room before she did. And even after all these years she still wore that same perfume, the one that Dad bought her every Christmas. Dutta couldn't for the life of him think why, it smelt strongly of vanilla and mixed spice. If anything as a child he had hated the smell. It was probably one of the reasons why he didn't hug his mother that much, well that or that she was always far too busy watching over her silverware being polished, or trying on new jewellery.
"Dutta," She spoke with the same grace: the surprise mixed with disappointment.
Dutta dropped his bag, and walked towards his mother, they hugged. It was awkward and brief.
"I thought I'd have to send out a search and rescue team."
"I said I'd be here didn't I?" Dutta replied back, dismissing another maid who had tried to take his jacket.
"Lilly, take Master Patil's coat and bag, be sure it is placed safely in his room," she now turned to look at Dutta;
"The last thing I need is to be accused of stealing by my own son, at my daughter's wedding."
Dutta sighed; there was no point in arguing. She had picked her side a long time ago, anything he'd say now would fall on deaf ears. Instead he turned to the maid and spoke;
"I can manage" But his mother cut across him: she always cut across him;
"Well that is clearly negative," She snapped her fingers, frightening poor Lilly, who instantly reached for Dutta's bag and coat and practically ran out of the room.
"Max,"
The terrified chap hurried over to her;
"Do you not like your job?"
"No, Madam Patil..."
She raised an eyebrow at him; poor Max broke into a sweat:
"I mean, I do Madam Patil, sorry."
"Are you unhappy here?" She continued completely unfazed;
"No, Madam Patil."
"Then what is the problem?" she inquired looking completely bored:
"Nnothing Madam Patil," he stammered, as he wiped away some sweat from his brow:
"Then why is it that it has already been 10 minutes and Master Patil here, is still without a drink. Gin on the rocks, with a twist." She snapped.
Max rushed over to the drinks cabinet, while Dutta called out:
"No thank you, Max. Just water for me."
He heard his mother scoff,
"Right, how silly of me, of course you only drink on your lonesome."
Dutta wasn't going to give into the bait. Instead he settled down into the single seat, noting how his mother had strategically placed herself in the seat in front. She watched him for some time, he could feel her gaze on his hair, his stubble, his unkempt crumpled shirt-well who could blame him? He'd flown in from Johannesburg-to finally his shoes. She was unimpressed. What was new?
"You're late." She declared, as she gracefully held her hands together-presumably to show off her diamond rings.
"Actually my flight was early." Dutta responded, nonchalant, as he leant back and crossed his leg.
"You were supposed to be here a week ago," she replied back coolly.
"What can I say I don't like Christmas."
"You missed your sister's mehndi and haldi."
"I don't like those either, on the accounts that I already have glowing skin and a real tattoo." This time Dutta made sure to wink. If she wanted to disprove of something, he should at least give her some fodder.
"A what?"
"Glowing skin." Dutta responded,
"You know what I mean" his mother narrowed her eyes at him, but Dutta didn't speak.
They sat again in silence.
"Your father will be here soon,"
"Great," Dutta smiled widely mocking excitement.
May be that had done it, or it could have been his thumb ring, or perhaps she had believed him about the tattoo, but Mrs Patil had decided she had had enough and got straight down to business. After all she was one the biggest businessman's daughter, married to a further businessman, and was supposedly supposed to be another businessman's mother-but alas Dutta had failed at the last one. Leaning forward, his mother who usually always kept her head up high as if a foul smell always followed her, lowered her head and spoke directly towards Dutta;
"I know it nearly kills you to greet us-your father and I-properly, but may I remind you, today until the end of this wedding-and your stay here, the Agnihotri's will be residing with us. They are not only Roopvati's in-law's but our close associates. I expect you to be on your very best form. This alliance is very important for your father. Nothing should go wrong."
She paused, locking her gaze into Dutta's she spoke clearly emphasising each syllable;
"Especially because of you."
Dutta clenched his jaw; he had to work very hard to stop himself. Of course there had been a lot he wanted to say. For one, Mrs Patil clearly didn't care for her daughter that much either if what was supposed to be the most important relationship of her life was being described as an alliance' but more than that, it was quite clear that Dutta was not wanted here. A feat that he realised he and his mother shared. Clearly they didn't want him to be a part of the wedding, nor did he want to be spending his remaining holidays stuck in hell.
"Do you understand?" she finally said
Did he? Dutta smirked a little, uncrossing his legs so that he now only perched on the edge of the seat he spoke;
"Crystal"
Of course he understood, to him: mom and dad were clearly selling their daughter. It could be flaunted as the greatest wedding of this decade, with the richest and most sophisticated families taking part, but the reality was that Roop was just another commodity for the Patil's. Just another beautiful commodity. A useful commodity. Perhaps the commodity that Dutta should have been three years ago when he was reminded of his birth right.'
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"Dr Jain?"
"Got it, is that the last of them?"
"One more, two mm to the left,"
Nakusha carefully moved the scalpel;
"That's too far, back a bit...there."
"Got it,"
"And we're all done." Dr Andrews announced.
"Close him up Dr Jain."
It had been two months since Nakusha had begun working at the hospital, part of UCL hospital trust, she had found that getting the job had been easy. Training in neurosurgery was one thing, but actually performing surgery was another. She couldn't help but smile when she thought back to four years ago, when she had been studying, still a med student, how she had thought her next step was the Mckenzie programme. Alas she hadn't gotten in, she didn't even apply, but there had been a reason for that, maybe it was destiny. Whatever it was, Nakusha appreciated it.
All those years back in Thailand, just as she was about to drive out of Phuket, she'd received a call, Leela had informed her about this new position that was opening up at John Hopkins, it was perfect for her. And as luck would have it, unknowingly she had been working alongside one of the trust members in Thailand. The years that followed were a beautiful stepping stone for Nakusha, she finally felt like she was close to attaining her dreams, and nothing could now stop her.
"Dr Jain, good work in there." Dr Andrews said, as they both washed up.
"Thank you,"
"I take it you have RSVP'd for the Monne Neurology conference?"
"Yes Doctor, just try and stop me."
Dr Andrews merely chuckled as she left the room but not before uttering words which hit Nakusha like lightening:
"Carpe Diem"
Carpe diem (seize the day), certainly. And suddenly his face swam before her. Those same eyes, intense with hint of mischief, that same arrogant smirk, even his butt chin. Nakusha couldn't help but smile fondly, thinking about her stranger. Indeed the last time she had heard those words, were from his mouth, when he'd spoken about his mother dearest's number one priority: find Dutta a wife.'
I wonder if she ever did?' Nakusha thought to herself, as she left the theatre, making her way towards her consultation room. It amused her to think of Dutta as married. It wasn't difficult, after all it had been four years, his mother was already on the look-out and they were well connected, suffice to say the odds did point in that direction. She thought hard about the type of girl he would go for. Would she have been tall? (he was 6 ft himself) would she have been talkative, share his bad taste in music and mostly would she have a ridiculous name too?
She had been so preoccupied in her thoughts that she hadn't even realised she had bumped into someone. Let alone that she had managed to spill his coffee.
"Oh my, I am so sorry,"
Nakusha had barely managed to get her words out; when she saw what she could only assume was a Greek God before her. He didn't look at her, instead he shook off the droplets, realising that most of it was on his tie he began to untie it, still not looking at Nakusha he responded back- rather agitatedly;
"It's ok."
Clearly it wasn't ok, as he brushed past her, yet again not even glancing up at her as he rushed off down the opposite side of the corridor. Nakusha, who had managed to avoid getting any coffee on herself (one of the perks of being petite) made her way to her room, she had barely reached her desk, when her secretary knocked on the door carrying her a note;
Jain, need you to fill in on a legal hearing, starts at 4pm, in Room 2 Johnson Ward.'
"4!" Nakusha looked at her watch, and made a run for it, the Johnson ward was on the other side of the hospital. It was usually where the long term patients suffering from Alzheimer's were situated. It also happened to be the same place where most legal disputes were settled, outside of court.
The patients at Johnson were long term, mostly old and frail, whose families could no longer take them or care for them. All of that wasn't an issue but under the present economy, where it was clear to anyone-other than an economist-as Northern Rock verged on a collapse, the government already in lieu of the upcoming general election in two years began its cost cutting. And the first to be hit? No not the billions and billions spent on war, not taxing the rich, or even the banker's bonuses, but the average man. The free legal aid, the nursing homes and children's day care centres. Basically everything that already cried for help.
It was during this time, that the hospital and its extended trusts faced constant legal battles between the patients family and the hospital staff, under which the poor patient was left in the lurch. Today Nakusha was to sit in on the case of Mrs Rosetta, a 74 year old lady who was at the very last stage of her Alzheimer's. Her son had brought the case forward; his plea he wanted to take his mother home. The hospital, supported this decision, the only issue was Mrs Rosetta's proxy who happened to be Nakusha's colleague and fellow Neurology consultant: Mrs Waters. She had been with Mrs Rossetta from the beginning and vetoed against this decision and in her corner she had fellow specialists: Dr Andrews and Brown. Nakusha was one of five doctors who would form part of the panel that would decide one way or another. She was taking the place of another doctor who had been called into surgery. It was quite possible her vote was going to swing the case in one direction or the other.
Nakusha barged into the room, the session was already in play, yet she knew if she slunk in no one would notice her; except someone did notice her. A lawyer: to be precise Mrs Rosetta's son: Michael's lawyer. Or as Nakusha had come to meet mere minutes ago; her accidental coffee bump;
"Dr..." he began searching for her name on the list;
"Jain, Nakusha Jain." Nakusha spoke instantly;
"I'm the stand in for Dr Brown, he was called into surgery."
The lawyer merely nodded, returning back to his notes. Again he didn't even look at her. Nakusha made her way round the table; the only empty seat was nearer the front and unfortunately opposite the lawyer. Nakusha sat down quickly and opened up a copy of the case before her and began reading up on the facts.
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"The facts have already been discussed, as has the matter at hand. Today my client simply seeks a just result for his mother. As his final plea he urges that you all vote wisely and remember that before everything else she is his mother, and that Michael is her sole surviving family. Thank you."
The lawyer took his seat. Dr Cameron, the head of neurology who had been stationed at the head of the table near Nakusha spoke;
"Very well, thank you counsel. We know why we're here today, there is a clear deadlock, in interest of fairness though this case has been discussed many times, I would like to grant a final opportunity to anyone who may have something to add. Speak if you must, we shall hear, but please be aware this is the final session on Mrs Rossetta's case. A decision must be reached today."
There was a pause, during which Dr Cameron looked around the room before she finally said:
"So, would anyone like to speak?"
"I would." The entire table looked at her, this was the first time the lawyer looked up too, as Nakusha peered up from the case and looked at Dr Cameron.
"Dr Cameron, I would like to say something."
"Very well Dr Jain, the floor is all yours."
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The decision had been cast; Mrs Rosetta was to stay at the hospital, with Micheal being awarded proxy. Would her health decline and it would be approved by Dr Waters, then Micheal may take her home in her final days.
It had been Nakusha's vote and speech that had swung the vote. Lest to say that hadn't gone down to well with the lawyer. The way his nostrils had flared Nakusha was sure he must have had a lot of colourful things to say about her, so much so that when he approached her, after the hearing was over, Nakusha had prepared to match any remark he made with a witty one of her own;
"SO Dr Jain."
"Hmm," she replied, this time not looking up at him;
"I hope you don't see this as imprudent, but would you like to go for a coffee?"
Nakusha was taken aback, his eyes were twinkling and he was clearly leaning in. The fact that he smelt incredible was not helping, but that didn't deter her;
"Sure, and I guess the first one is on me" Nakusha responded back with a smirk,
