HER LAST WISH

Part 15

Although I had no doubt that Astha’s love for me was pure and unadulterated, I was a human being who could go weak at times. I had Daniel’s number and wanted to speak to him, but was wondering what I would say. I wanted to meet him too, but somehow had a bad feeling about it. So, to be on the safer side, I took an appointment with Daniel for Sunday. I introduced myself as Sargam’s friend who wanted to speak about something essential. He was insistent that we meet in his office, but after a few persistent requests, he agreed to meet at his house.
I noticed a strange psychological change in myself. I had suddenly become more outgoing. Whatever I did, I did it without any fear or inhibitions, maybe
because I didn’t have anything to lose.
I unfolded the page on which her seven wishes were written. I smirked and said to myself, “My dear weird wife, why could you not have more common
wishes? You must probably have been drunk or insane while writing this.”
I wanted to try everything that could give her happiness. I failed to understand why I wasn’t giving up as I had always done. I made up my mind to work upon
the next impossible task.
I called up Sudha aunty, the editor and chief of Hype & Dust magazine, and ended up at her office. Being a journalist’s son, it was cakewalk for me to dig
out Sudha aunty’s contact details. She was a close friend of my mother’s but had snatched my mother’s story once and was no longer in her good books.
Surprisingly, she had turned up during my wedding and it had appeared as if they had resolved their differences.
Hype & Dust was the leading gossip magazine in the Delhi NCR area. They were amongst the top five when it came to distribution. Their office was small
yet presentable. A few seats were placed in the waiting area. I settled down in one of the chairs and flipped the pages of a magazine placed on a nearby table to kill my time while I waited to see her.
After a few minutes, I stepped up to the receptionist’s desk and asked, “Can I have a look at the previous issues of the magazine?”
“Sir, we have a small store for visitors. Feel free to walk in.” She pointed towards the coffee machine adjacent to which was a room labelled ‘Magazine
Repository’. I found multiple copies of each month’s issue of Hype & Dust. I had a glimpse of their cover pages – that was my only target.
“Astha, one day your photo will be on the cover page of this magazine!” I promised her in my heart.
Most of the cover pages featured common men, projecting their rare quality – a debut author along with his book, a few struggling models, a young successful entrepreneur, some leading brands, creative artists, a famous philanthropist, a
restaurant owner, leading advocates and so on.
Some issues of the magazine had pictures of sexy ladies teaching you five methods to make wine at home. Yet another story featured a housewife teaching
one to make rotis that remain soft for three days. A couple’s picture clicked in complete darkness featured an article on the importance of sex in married life.
My eyes were locked to the next article – ‘AIDS cannot kill love’.
Each time I picked up an issue, my confidence only heightened. I was now sure that only Sudha aunty could help me fulfil at least one of Astha’s wishes .
After an hour of waiting, I was called inside Sudha aunty’s cabin. The famous Mona Lisa painting hung on one of the walls, of course a copy. The second wall was adorned with antique showpieces of a black lady, a few photos with famous
celebrities like Dr A.P.J. Abdul Kalam, Shahrukh Khan and Salman Khan. The third wall was covered with awards and recognition received in appreciation by Hype & Dust. It was a room with massive hoo-ha – a showoff of prosperity and
money being her slaves.
“Welcome Vijay. Long time no see.”
“Hi aunty!”
“How are you doing? How is Sushma?”
“Mom is fine, aunty. She is still in South Africa for the football World Cup coverage.”
“Call me Sudha, please. Do I look old enough for you to call me aunty?”
I guessed that she was infected with the rare psychological disorder of not being able to accept the truth of aging. I smiled.
“How is Astha? Well, I must say, you have a gorgeous wife,” she said playfully. I considered it wise to get straight to the point before she said anything
related to my sex life.
“Sudhaji, I need a favour.”
“Please feel free to ask for anything. I’d love to help you.”
“One of my close female friends wishes to be featured on the cover page of your magazine.”
“So you want Hype & Dust to feature a story about her?”
“Exactly,” I said, nodding my head.
“Tell me more about this friend of yours. What does she do? Is she a model or a director?”
“She is a common lady.”
“Okay, let me guess. An ordinary lady who wants to publicize herself to boost her business or modelling career?”
I was amazed by her guess .
“Kind of, she is a budding writer,” I lied.
“Five lakhs,” she said, as if she was carrying a menu card.
“You charge for it?” I said aghast. She nodded and I continued, “So all those stories about businessmen and common man becoming uncommon were paid
stories?”
“Don’t think of it as paid. It is PR. After all, it helps boosting their business.”
She triggered another storm in my mind.
“How many books has she written?” asked Sudha aunty.
“She is working on her first book,” I lied again.
“The charge for debutantes is eight lakhs.”
“What!” Had Astha been there, I am sure she would have said ‘fuck you’ on Sudha aunty’s face. I had a similar urge while she continued, “Featuring a debutante is always
risky. Had anyone other than you approached me, I wouldn’t even have considered their offer. But I don’t want to disappoint my friend’s son.”
Her generosity was too much to digest. Firstly, she made me wait for more than an hour and later offered a discount of millions!
“So Sudha,” I removed the ji from her name because she had lost it right in front of me. “All these writers whose photos have been featured on the cover
page paid you to get there?”
“Yes. Not just us, almost every other magazine has this arrangement. A minimum of ten lakh rupees is charged for a cover photo and four-page story. You must be aware that we have a circulation of close to one million copies in
the city.”
“My friend is not that rich. To tell you the truth, I had come here with a request. She has been diagnosed with HIV and always wished to be featured on
the cover page of a magazine.”
“Oh, that’s great!” Her rising excitement at someone’s plight bewildered me .
“Excuse me?”
“We can surely publish her story.”
“Really?” I was confused.
“Yes, we would feature a cover page story on her along with the tagline – hate
the sin, not the sinner.”
“What is the relevance of that?”
“We’ll write a story wherein we will project that your friend was sleeping around with some men, or male prostitutes for that matter, and had unprotected
sex because of which she got infected. Now her last wish of seeing herself on the cover page of a magazine will be fulfiled. Hype & Dust will help her. I’ll publish my photo with her.”
“But that is not true!” I said irritated with her remarks. “There are other
mediums that can infect one with HIV.”
“Such as?”
“Such as an infected syringe, infected blood transfusion, breast feeding, drug addiction from a common syringe, shaving with the same blade, any small cut from an infected knife or blade…” I could go on but she cut me short.
“But all these reasons cannot cook a story. It won’t sell.”
“But this is the matter of someone’s life.”
“But for me, it is business.”
“Thank you.” I could not waste any more of my precious time. But I guess she didn’t get the implication of my thank you.
“Listen Vijay,” she said, “this story can do wonders. I can get my magazine sponsored by a condom manufacturer. My proposal is totally free. Think over it again.” Her enthusiastically popping eyes were reflecting greed in its purest form.
“Thank you for your time. Let me tell you something, Ms Sudha. You magazine’s name is perfect.”
“Oh, thanks. I created it.”
I sighed. “It is only hype and dust!”