The Arranged Marriage— Act 2, Scene 1
Setting — A neat, posh 20-seater meeting room with teakwood accents and muted lighting in the JW Marriott. It is 9.30 AM on an overcast Monday morning. A lone man is working furiously on his computer at one end of a long central table. His colleagues are yet to come in. He lifts his paper coffee cup to his lips, and grimaces — the cup is empty now. Slams his laptop shut and stretches, getting up and heading out, tapping at his phone with two thumbs.
The lobby has old English classics playing in a low volume, and currently, “Can’t Help Falling in Love” is on.
Heads straight into an equally preoccupied woman coming from the other direction, full coffee cup in one hand and phone in the other.
Kritika stumbles backward, spilling coffee all over her designer bag and the front of her beige shirt. Vignesh catches her just before she hits the ground, one arm around her waist, other gripping her left hand, pulls her up gracefully. There is a very Bollywood-ish span of a moment when they make eye contact before recognition kicks in and Kritika quickly stands upright again, embarrassed, taking a few steps back. Of all the days she could forget bringing her blazer, it HAD to be this one day when she would choose to wear a semi-sheer shirt. Typical. Damn you, Murphy! Damn you, coffee!
Vignesh: (scrunching his eyes and looking up, determined not to stare in an obvious manner) Damn, Kritika, I’m so, so sorry —
In the background — ‘Like a river flows…. slowly to the sea….. darling, so it goes, some things are meant to be….’ Kritika is now listening intently, a race of conflicting emotions on her face.
Vignesh: (hesitantly making eye contact) Err, Kritika ? Are you alright? I’m sure you didn’t hit you head or anything, I gripped you on time. (looks concerned. Tears begin to well in her eyes, her rose-tinted lips quiver) Kritika? (more insistently, taking a sudden step towards her when she seems to teeter slightly) Ms. Shankar?
Kritika: (snaps alert at the formal tone in the mention of her name, hurriedly wipes her eyes) Why are you apologising, Vignesh? I’m really sorry, looks like I got coffee on your shirt, look — (points at the large specks of brown dotting his ice blue sleeves). Let me get myself out of this mess, then the least I can do is get a spare shirt for you, maybe get a Dunzo from a Peter England? Or are you a Park Avenue kinda guy? I’m assuming you wear a 38 slim fit—
Vignesh: (interrupts) Hold your horses! Good Lord, Kritika! I had no idea you were a walking-talking tailor’s tape —
Kritika: (reddening) I’m sorry if I crossed a line, I knew someone who used to wear the same size, just thought you might fit into it too.
Vignesh: (laughs, but it does not reach his eyes. He seems to be keenly analysing the hidden words behind her sentence) It’s just a few spots, doesn’t matter. I can wash it off in a jiffy, or wear my blazer all day.
Kritika: Really? You’re sure?
Vignesh: Positive. The least I can do is buy you coffee, since I up-ended your morning dose. What say we walk towards Cubbon? There’s a chai tapri near there, much better stuff than the tosh served here. And I’m saying coffee, you heard that right. Not copy. (smiles mischievously, in reference to their one and only previous informal interaction where he had misunderstood her ‘let’s get a copy for this date’ for ‘let’s get a coffee for a date’ and avoided being alone with her for quite some time)
Kritika: (face reddens further) I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable that day. I have no intentions of any date, I assure you, except to get a final nod on the due diligence from your boss by the 15th of this month —
Vignesh: (looks secretly pleased) I’m so happy to see that you’ve been overthinking this way more than I have. And to think, I was the one who misunderstood you. Madam, may I take the liberty to tell you that you have a terrible guilt complex? Please stop apologising for stupid things. Happens too much with women at work, but you’ve taken it a notch higher, what with every sentence beginning or ending with an apology.
Kritika: (looks a little taken aback at the free flow of conversation, as if they were long-time friends, responds more curt than she intended to sound) I’ll…keep that in mind, thank you. (musters a brave smile) Please excuse me, I need to use the ladies’ room.
Vignesh: (notices her hands folded self-consciously and tight in front of her chest, hiding the worst impact of the coffee) Hold on a minute, will you? (goes into the meeting room and returns with a dark tan blazer) Return it to me when you have a change of clothes. (helps her into it, very gentlemanly) Do you want me to call the helpdesk and get something from the gift center downstairs? Size small, I assume? Since you took the liberty of 38-ing me —
Kritika: (mortified) I’ll manage, thanks. I have a spare set in my car, incidentally. (gratefully) God bless my best friend for having her wedding reception this evening at the Palace Grounds. I’d packed everything, assuming I’d get held up here.
Vignesh: (smiles, eyes crinkle in amusement) You’re just like Shruti that way — (he clarifies, at Kritika’s raised eyebrows) my fiancee. She never goes anywhere without a change of clothes in her bag. Go on, I’ll get the projector set up by the time you’re back, so we can kickstart the meeting whenever the rest of them decide to get here. (waves and goes back into the meeting room, closes the door. Shivers, mutters something about the AC freezing something, not realising he was still audible to Kritika)
Kritika: (from the other side of the door, sniggering) Did you just say ‘pointy bits’?! I’m pretty sure I heard that right.
Vignesh: (loudly) Down the corridor and second right. Go, good woman, go, I beg you. (rolls his eyes, sinks his head in his hands, chagrined. A few moments later, composes himself and moves to his former place at the table, tinkering with the projector settings)
Kritika returns in 20 minutes, all dolled up. She is wearing a saree and some jewelry too, too ornate for a business meeting.
Vignesh: (stares at her, mouth half open, as she walks in. Hastily smiles to cover it up, but Kritika notices) We better get going, I have no idea how you’re going to walk 800 meters in a saree.
Kritika: (rolls her kohl-lined eyes) Just saving time so that I don’t waste the evening getting the pleats right. Figured I might as well go the whole mile anyway.
Vignesh: (an unreadable warning in his eyes, signalling an abrupt return to their former formal tone of communication) By the way, two of my team members have nearly reached. I’ve asked them to join us at the chai place. This projector is ready to roll. (utterly businesslike) Hope you have the stats ready.
Kritika: (matches his formal tone) Yes, Vignesh. All ready. Let’s go.
(End of scene 1)
