Little Book Of Red Lies | Shubman Gill ✓

33. Wishing on dandelions

Kavya Arora

I knew that Anand wanted me to feel trapped inside the mansion. To lose hope. To turn miserable. To beg him to let me go. And there was no way I was going to let a man who murdered my parents win this time. That's the least I can do to honour their sacrifice. Hence however bizzare it sounds, I have come up with a routine.

A routine that mostly involves a lot of staring and reflecting. There is this huge painting in the drawing room. It's a suspiciously warm and vivid depiction of a field of dandelions. Who knows what it signifies to Anand but I have used it as a medium to disappear into my thoughts. The first day, I stared at it and thought about light hearted things. Like religiously watching Taarak Mehta ka ooltah chashma at 8:30 pm. I tried recalling all of Popatlal's failed attempts at marriage. Chose which one I liked the best. Tried to give him a happy ending in my head. It really worked to put a smile on my face.

The second day, I tried counting all the movies that made me shed tears of happiness. This was a tough question to answer and I spent a lot of times picking the ones that met the criteria from the sieve of memory. Anand tried to strike a conversation with me. Mostly he would speak about how I am going to spend the rest of my life here so I might as well talk to him and blah blah blah. When I first heard it, the heat of his power almost evaporated my optimism. But I silently smirked inside. He did not know that somewhere there was a vampire who would be doing everything in his power to locate me. And I trusted him.

On the third day, I rewrote endings of movies that had not satisfied me. I came up with conspiracy theories and one was so good that it made me beam with happiness. I never knew I had such a creative side to me until now!

Today is the fourth day. And an unusually low energy, low optimism day. I did not feel like getting out of bed. And when I finally make it to the drawing room, I stare at the painting with longing. I miss home. I even miss occasionally getting kicked by Rahul in his sleep. And even though I have had time to move on from this morning ritual, I miss seeing Shubman in all his glory smiling at me as I would walk towards the kitchen. I miss chatting endlessly with Sara, unloading my day's good and bad on her. Oh and sitting on the jhula with Arjun, annoying him.

I sink in the spiral of yearning. For the first time it occurs to me that I need to try harder to get out of here. At this moment, playing the innocent victim who is not at all plotting to get out of the house seems like the perfect plan and so I blurt out,

"Can I at least get the TV remote? I'm dying of boredom." I add the last part knowing that Anand will enjoy the dark humour.

Anand is quick to woosh his way to reach my side. He checks the time. It's 7:27pm 3 minutes before the first match of IPL. Okay. Caught me.

"Can't wait to watch that boyfriend of yours?" He seems to enjoy my anguish.

"He's not my boyfriend." I correct the only incorrect thing in the previous statement. Truth be told, I could really use a visual to see that Shubman is fine. And in the process, get a chance to feel close to him again.

"Oops. Touched a nerve there, didn't I?" I let him believe that he did. If there's one thing that I have learnt by watching crime shows then it's this, sometimes it's best to let the other think they're winning. And that's exactly what I do.

"Don't be sad, sweetheart. You can most definitely watch him." He switches the TV on. It's Chennai who is batting.

"Tchh tchh tch. Looks like even fate isn't on your side darling." He says. I fake sigh to ameliorate the effect.

But since karma is such a leveller, the cameraman shows where Shubman is positioned. I hide my smile but when I see that Anand is busy looking at his phone, I allow myself to feel positive. At the same time I cannot help but notice that Shubman's face is devoid of expression. His eyes look tired. Instinctively I move, as if to touch the screen but get a grip on myself before I do so. I sigh as Ruturaj hits the first boundary of the season.

*****

After what feels like an eternity, the innings break ends. They show Shubman padding up. I muffle a scream of pleasure that threatens to break free.

"Oh you can celebrate. I am not a monster who is going to stop you from adoring your lover." He says as he rolls his eyes.

"I'm not his lover." I say.

"I didn't say you were." Arghhhhhhh.

I keep looking at the screen trying to record Shubman's sight using my eyes. And in the process their battery heats up and they start welling. I suddenly feel as if I have been swept over to the Narendra Modi Stadium and am one of the ecstatic Gujarat Titan fan.

"It surprises me, you know…." Anand speaks up after a blessed minute of silence.

"The adoration people shower on these cricketers. I mean what's so special about them? They're ordinary, mortal beings. They don't have the amazing power of reaching anywhere in a snap or compelling anyone to do anything. They need to sleep to function. How boring."

I keep my retort to myself. Anyways, Anand will never understand what's so special about hard work. And devotion to a sport.

"I was always fascinated by the hype of Sachin Tendulkar." He tells me. My body stiffens. I study his face carefully. Thoughts seems to run as fast as him on it. Towards the end of his reverie, he gives me a sinster smile. I can only wonder what it means.

*****

Shubman roars with agression as he reaches his first half century. My heart swells with pride and concern. His frustration is palpable through the TV. Looking at the dandelions, I wish to see him soon.