Sisters

Shobhaa Dé

Description

When her parents die in an air crash, Mikki Hiralal discovers that her father s massive business empire is in serious trouble. And it s up to her to sort the mess. Beset by creditors, rapacious tycoons and untrustworthy associates, the young woman realizes that there is only one person she can turn to for help the beautiful Alisha, her father s illegitimate daughter. There is only one hitch Alisha hates Mikki . . .

Informations

• Publié par: Penguin Books Ltd
• Date de parution: 15 octobre 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9788184754537
• Langue: English

Extrait

SHOBHAA D

SISTERS
Contents
About the Author
By the Same Author
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Epilogue
Other Books
Follow Penguin
Copyright
PENGUIN BOOKS SISTERS
Shobhaa D s eighteen books include the bestsellers Socialite Evenings , Starry Nights , Spouse and Superstar India . Her latest book is Sethji. A widely read columnist in leading publications, she is known for her outspoken views, making her one of India s most respected opinion shapers. D lives in Mumbai with her family.
Also by the author
Fiction
Socialite Evenings
Starry Nights
Strange Obsession
Sultry Days
Snapshots
Second Thoughts
Non-fiction
Speedpost
Surviving Men
Selective Memory
Spouse
Superstar India
To my parents, Indira and Govind Rajadhyaksha my brother, Ashok, and my sisters, Mandakini and Kunda- for tolerating me
One
M ikki hated white. God, she hated it. Yet, all she could see around her was white this morning. She stared at her hands lying passively in her lap and suppressed a smile. She d forgotten to remove her nail polish. Ten clots of blood stood out against her white, hand-embroidered kurta. She wiggled her bare toes and studied them. Crimson red toenails against the dead white of the marble flooring. She adjusted a toe-ring absently. Antique silver. She remembered the day she d bought her first set. She had been fifteen. Abruptly she looked up, her eyes searching for Gangu. God! She was still crying into her crumpled pallav . Gangu s huge bindi was smeared across her dark forehead and her glass bangles made such an embarrassing jangle each time she rubbed her swollen eyes. People were staring coldly at her. Mikki scanned the assembled crowd for Dhondu. He was probably busy in the kitchen downstairs organizing tea and coffee for everyone. Special tea and coffee, excessively milky and lightly spiced with cardamom. Their home was renowned for both. Visitors often demanded a cup adding, How can we leave Seth Hiralal s home without tasting Maltiben s masala chai? An involuntary sigh escaped Mikki. She was so exhausted, she could barely keep her eyes open. She felt like a coffee too. But not Dhondu s brew. American coffee. Strong, black and without sugar. Mikki needed to wake up and face reality.
Mikki s mind drifted back to her toe-rings. How her mother had objected to them! Girls in our family do not wear silver toe-rings like the ghatis -these are meant for servants. Take them off immediately. Mikki had ignored her and walked off to show the toe-rings to Gangu-who would appreciate them. But Gangu had surprised Mikki by her reaction: Dear God! Has your mother seen these? Quick! Remove them, Sethani will get furious. Girls from good families don t wear such things. And silver! Remember, your mother is a princess. She is entitled to wear gold on her feet. Mikki had pulled a face and asked Gangu to shut up and get her a fresh orange juice. She had loved her new acquisitions. They had made her feet look so dainty. Mikki knew she had pretty feet with graceful arches. Just like her mother s. Everybody had said she resembled her closely, in every way. Slanted sunlight had filtered in through the trellis outside the broad veranda as Mikki had kicked off her sandals and clicked her brand new toe-rings on the hard marble floor. They had made a lovely sound.
Mikki dreamed that she was dancing, her toe-rings clicking rhythmically...faster, faster, faster. She whirled through the unending corridor...the entire bungalow was beginning to spin around her head. She could hear chants. Voices all around her singing something familiar...her nostrils were filled with a heady fragrance she knew must have come from the joss-sticks in the puja room. She heard cymbals and her nose was filled with the slightly sickening smell of stale roses and spider lilies...Mikki awoke with a sharp start as she felt a heavy arm around her shoulders. It s all right...we are all here with you. It s all right. You are not alone. Cry...cry a little...it will be good for you. Once the tears come, you will feel better.... Mikki looked up into the small, mean eyes of her aunt, Anjanaben, and pulled away.
Gangu came and stood by her. As soon as she saw that Mikki was observing her, she burst into tears again. Her wails began to annoy the young girl. Gangubai, please stop that, she said, what has happened has happened. Gangu wiped her tears with the pallav of her nine-yard sari. Baby...God has dealt you a severe blow. You are orphaned...what worse fate can a child suffer? Listen to me, I m only an illiterate woman, but I have raised you from the day you emerged from your mother s womb. She was too weak to even suckle you... you are like my own child...this tragedy... and Gangu broke down once more. Mikki raised her up gently from the floor where she d been sitting. Go and get me a coffee, she said and pushed her out.
The Times of India had had a two column photograph of her father on the front page-the usual one that accompanied his press releases. Industrialist and wife die in air mishap, the headline had said. The text had been brief and to the point. The standard bio-data and the predictable messages from the presidents of various businessmen s clubs and associations. There was a line from the Chief Minister, another from the Governor. A great loss , A severe blow , His place can never be taken . He had been in the obit column too. And there had been a longer report on page three with her own picture. At least they could have caught her at a better angle, she had thought wryly. Survived by his only child, a daughter, Mallika, studying at present in the U.S. The business section had had a longer profile, tracing Seth Hiralal s rise from a small time merchant of scrap to his position, when he died, as the undisputed tycoon of tycoons with a string of industries to his name.
Her father had been quite a man, Mikki mused. Quite a bastard too.
*
Just a few miles away from Mikki s bungalow, in a small suburb of Bombay, another pair of young eyes was scrutinizing the same paper. Alisha nudged her mother, See...see this! Just look! Nobody has thought of us. Her mother shifted in the large double-bed and pushed Alisha s hand away. Baby, you are really stupid. Did you expect to be mentioned or what? Who are we to that family? Nobodies. You know that. You ve always known that. Let me sleep. As it is, I m feeling awful. And now you are pushing newspapers in my face. Alisha continued to read, her eyes narrowing at the references to Mikki. Look at this! Ha, ha! Survived by his only child. Mummy, wake up. You must see all this rubbish! Only child, she mocked. And what about me? What am I? A puppy? A kitten? A pet?
The older woman got up, her eyes still heavy with sleep. Why don t you shut up? My Bachchoo is dead. Papa is dead. That is all. We have to plan on what to do. My head is full of worries about our future. And you are talking all this nonsense, Go ... get some tea. She pushed Alisha off the bed and walked towards the bathroom.
Alisha went into the neat kitchen and woke up the servant-girl. Hey...Savita...get up! Memsaab wants tea. Quickly! And my milk. Lazy, lazy, lazy! Sleep all day! Come on-up! The girl scampered to her feet and put the milk on the boil.
Alisha looked out of the kitchen window. This place was getting so crowded! She remembered growing up in the apartment when there were just four or five buildings around. Vile Parle was a quiet suburb at that time. And now it had become a slum. A filthy slum.
So...he was dead. Alisha thought that over. It was going to make a big difference to her plans. And her mother s. Would she still be able to go to America? Where would she get the money from? He had promised to send her abroad. Promised to pay for everything. She thought of him, of his last visit to their home last week. She d been nasty. And now Alisha regretted her words. All those accusations and harsh words had tumbled out before she could stop them. But how could she have known then, that he would die so suddenly...so soon?
Alisha walked back into her room and started combing her long hair. Her father used to stroke it when she was younger. She used to love those occasions when he d arrive straight from work and spend the whole evening with them. The whole night too, but that wasn t often.
Alisha looked at the collage of photographs her mother had stuck untidily on a board in her room. Papa had become quite fat during the past two years, she observed. And Mummy too. She smiled, staring at the three of them holidaying in Ooty. X mas time, four years ago. Alisha was just fifteen then. A pretty fifteen, but nothing compared to the precious Mallika. Just the thought of her half-sister made Alisha screw up her face. Mallika, always Mallika before her. Mummy used to say that when both of them were babies, Papa often mixed them up! He d call her, Alisha, by the other little girl s name. But she was certain Papa must ve been careful enough not to call Mallika by her name-at least not in front of people. And certainly not in front of Mallika s stuck-up mother!
Alisha went to check whether her mother had finished her tea. She found her staring vacantly out of the window. Mummy, don t tell me you took those pills again last night, she scolded. Just look at you! Look at your eyes! Alisha turned away in disgust.
Please, baby. Not today. As it is I m feeling terrible. This is a woman s fate. My mother always used to tell me, Leela, you will have everything in life, but not domestic happiness. It is written here ... and she tapped her forehead. My fate is such. Even my horoscope says that. Alisha knew she was in for another one of her mother s self-pitying lectures. She sighed and tried to change the subject. Mummy, don t you think we should at least go for the funeral? Her mother stared at her with wide eyes and nearly screamed