Influence

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"Can I meet Ms Mehra, please?”

“Who? Dr Verma’s patient?”

“Yes”

“Are you a relative of hers?”

“No” I nervously tucked my hair behind my ears as the scanning eyes of the mean-looking lady at the reception pierced through me. “Actually, she is my friend.”

“Well, then you have to ask Dr Verma for permission.” She said curtly and buried her eyes once again in the magazine she was reading.

“Could you please tell me where is Dr Verma’s cabin?”

“He is with a patient right now and you have to wait.”

  I settled down on a sofa in the parlour of the BM mental hospital and research centre. My mind wandered to the time when I was a first-year student of BBA. It was on the occasion of our College’s Annual day that I saw Aparajita Mehra for the first time. She was our chief guest for the day and her splendid speech on the ‘Scope and Future of the B- world’ still rang in my ears. No one else has ever influenced me as much as she has. She was in her early thirties at that time but had succeeded in carving a niche for her in the business world even at such a young age.

   She was our diva during my college days and everyone in our college dreamt of becoming the next ‘Aparajita Mehra’ of the B- world. While all others had idolized her for her achievements, I developed an affection towards the beautiful soul that resided within her. Although on our first meeting, I didn’t get a chance to get acquainted with her but still, deep down I felt as if I was bonded to her for life.

“Hey Varsha, what are you doing here?” A husky baritone brought me back to the present.

“Hi Abhi, what a pleasant surprise!”

It was Abhimanyu, my classmate during the schooldays. I had lost contact with him after school. But recently, I came to know from some common friends that he is a psychiatrist.

“Everything fine upstairs, I guess,” Abhi said teasing me.

“I am here to meet Ms Mehra,” I said as I playfully hit Abhi as revenge for making fun of me. “I was once her subordinate but the bond between us is that of friendship.”

“Well” Abhi shrugged, “I don’t think she will recognize you. Her symptoms are worsening with each passing day. Most of the times, she can’t remember anything not even herself. But on some rare occasions, she does.”

“Whatever, Abhi!” I threw my hands in the air. “I really do want to meet her. I am in Banglore only for a week. After that only God knows whether I will get a chance to meet her again or not.”

“Fine, I will arrange that for you.”

  

   Abhi made his way to Dr Verma’s cabin and I resumed my seat in the parlour. My thoughts took me back in time. After completing my MBA, I got placement via campus recruitment and was assigned to work with Aparajita Mehra and her team. I still remember my first day in Ms Mehra’s cabin. I was as nervous as I was happy to get a chance to work with my diva. She was a sweet and polite lady and not mean and bossy like bosses usually are. But it wasn’t that easy to become friends with her. After spending a few days with her, I painfully realized that she avoided getting personally attached to the people around her.

“The lady has a broken heart.” Mrs Nazreen Khan, her personal secretary explained the reason to me. “Haven’t you heard of Vikramjit Rathore?”

Rathore who topped the list of the most influential people in the B- world was the ruthless ex-husband of Ms Mehra.

 “He was her classmate during their college days,” Mrs Khan explained. “He was charming, intelligent, quick-witted and everything else that a girl dreams of and she fell madly in love with him. Unfortunately, the man she adored turned out to be a macabre beast. He subjected her to brutal physical tortures and on some occasions, he even assaulted her in public. She suffered everything in silence for the sake of their marriage but at last, he walked out on her and their love culminated in a divorce.”

“But she seems to be strong as if nothing matters to her,” I asked astounded.

“She just acts to be strong and happy but actually she is a lost soul.” Mrs Khan clarified.

   It was hard for me to accept Mrs Khan’s version of the story at that moment but as I grew close to Ms Mehra it proved out to be true. Most of the times, Ms Mehra’s face glowed with the triumph of being a successful businesswoman. But there were times when the broken woman inside her popped-out and left me bewildered. At the parties, where Rathore appeared with his new wife, she behaved as if he had ceased to exist for her. But there were occasions when her swollen lids and blood-shot eyes revealed the clandestine story of sleepless nights that she had spent mourning over her lost love. Sometimes, her words portrayed Rathore as an atrocious villain but on others, her words have made me believe that her tender feelings for Rathore were still alive.

“She still loves him, that’s why she is against a re-marriage.” Mrs Khan’s words made a tear roll down my cheeks. 

But then another thought crossed my mind and consoled me.

 "She will always remain the strong and determined ‘Iron- lady’ of the B world." I told myself, "Nothing could beat her down."

           

   I have seen all the shades of an ideal Indian woman in her. Though she was abandoned like Ahalya, she still had the strength of Durga to bear it all. Though her dignity was trampled by a man like that of Draupadi, still she fought the battle with her life and society with the courage of Rani Laxmibai. Though her own life was in dark, she used to light-up other's world with her charity and benevolence. She was always there to help me out whenever I needed her like a sibling.  Since I was the only child of my parents, I had always longed for the love of a sibling.

        

    After my marriage, I decided to settle abroad with my husband and left the job. When I handed my resignation letter to Ms Mehra, I craved to tell her that if reincarnations are a truth, let me take birth as your little sister in our next life. But then I could never muster courage enough to put my feelings for her in words. I returned to India after two decades only to find the invincible Aparajita Mehra losing the battle with sanity.

“Varsha” Abhi’s voice jolted me, “You can meet her but she may not recognize you.”

“That’s okay. Thank you so much, Abhi.”

I knocked on her door and walked in.

“Who’s that?” A pale and worn out reflection of Ms Mehra asked as she fumbled with her glasses.

“I am your little sister, Didi,” I said as I was sure that she will not recognize me. Moreover, I wanted to fulfil my life-long wish of addressing her as ‘Didi’ before it was too late.

“I know Varsha,” she said, “I have always loved you like my own little sister.”

The torrential flow of tears from my eyes conveyed the love I had been keeping from her all these years.

                     I'm Writing Bravely for the Write Tribe Festival of Words - March 2019.

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