July rain drummed the hood of the auto and lashed in intrusively through the stinking canvas screens on the sides. The auto fellinto yet another bone-rattling pot-hole that dotted what went for roads in Andheri East. The auto driver swore under his breath.
Al, the lone, wet passenger on the rear seat, tried to shrink into the two square inches of dry space on the seat. His attempt was soon defeated by the spray of water from the rear wheels of a pointlessly rushing car on the submerged road next to the auto. Who drove fast at 10 p.m. in the fucking night during torrential rains? And where were they going in fucking Andheri East?
Al gave up—trying to stay dry, trying to feel cheerful, and trying to have a life. If not for vigilante friends, he’d have given up trying to live long time ago. But they annoyingly, irritatingly, persistently tried to engage him with life—like today. He was made to brave the fucking rains to meet his fucking friend at his office so that they can go out for fucking drinks and dinner. Like that was going to make Al forget the steaming pile of mess his life had become since his divorce!
“Left, left!” Al shouted at his auto driver as he almost missed the small lane inside which the ridiculously big and modern office building was situated. The security guard at the gate peered at him from under the hood of his rain gear and waved him in. Did Al see pity in his eyes? The auto halted at the lush porch of the building.
Al paid, got out and looked up at the building. Lights dotted the shiny glass façade here and there, but the building was mostly in darkness. Only ghosts, antisocial elements, and desperate souls seemed to be abroad that unholy night.
Al entered the foyer with squelching shoes as the blast of a/c hit him and made him shiver. The lobby security was dozing at his seat. He woke up and raised an unfriendly gaze at Al and watched him with suspicion as he filled up the security log. “15th floor,” he informed Al unnecessarily.
Al walked down to the mood lit bank of elevators. One of the elevators responded to his call and squished down and opened its doors. He stepped in. As the doors were closing on the cavernous space within, there was a flutter outside. Al caught glimpses of saree’s edges, twinkling bangles, huge eyes and a desperate mouth and almost automatically pressed the “open” button.
She walked in. Al stood transfixed and barely noticed the doors closing behind her. As the elevator jerked and started its sedate journey upwards, she raised her enormous, long lashed eyes to him and showed her gratitude with a half-smile. Did he smile in return? He felt light headed, as if he’d already consumed the alcohol planned for later in the evening; or had smoked something nice.
As his senses registered the brightness of the eyes, the line of her nose, the fullness of her lips, the fall of her hair, the rise of her chest, the curve of her hip, and the hint of her legs, Al struggled to breathe. Who was she? She didn’t look the corporate type, with her rather traditional attire, long hair and a thin mangal sutra around her neck. She was not carrying anything, not even an umbrella. Where did she come from?
She stood silently, head bowed down at the other end of the elevator, yet Al felt a strange pull--a strange urge to conquer, a strange urge to surrender. Maybe he should talk to her. Find out what she was doing in a semi-empty office building, all alone, at such a time on such a night. Maybe she needed some help. Which floor did she want to go on?
He looked over to the panel and saw only 15 lit. He turned to her when the elevator jerked and the lights dimmed momentarily. Before he could react, they were on the 15th floor and the door opened. He looked out and faintly registered the glass doors of his friend’s office.
He turned back. She was not there.
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