The House That BJ Built by Anuja Chauhan

Author:Anuja Chauhan [Chauhan, Anuja]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-05-24T22:00:00+00:00

‘Haan bhaisaab, jahan chhoda tha, wahin se utha lo,’ Bonu tells her cabbie wearily that evening as she walks out of the studio after the shoot has wrapped up. And then can’t help thinking that these words fully sum up the story of her life—Samar too could pick her up right where he left her, she’s still as besotted with him as she was when she was five. God, she is such a loser.

‘Bonita, over here, get in. I want to talk to you.’

Samar’s long black car, which had been parked next to the vanity vans all day, is nosing its way out of the gate.

Shit shit shit. She really doesn’t need this. Her cheeks are hurting from so much polite smiling, the words aur jee aur jee aur jee aur jee seem to be looping in her head endlessly, and her hair and skin feel gritty with dirt. She continues to walk.

‘Madam, Samar-sir will give lift!’ the smiling driver rolls down the window and says.

Damn. Heartbeat accelerating humiliatingly, she yanks open the door closest to her and climbs into the back. The interior of the car is plush, all expensive leather and cool minty air, dimly lit by the twilight outside and the little green lights glowing in the instrument panels.

‘Yes?’ she says gruffly.

He is leaning forward, ticking off all the shots they’ve taken, but now he looks up and grins.

‘Arrey! How was your day? Your first shoot ever! No girlish gushings? What did you think of the track? The Trings? Zeeshan Khan?’

These cheerful words are met with a sullen silence.

Finally she shrugs. ‘Nice.’

‘Nice?’ Samar looks insulted.

She nods. ‘Yeah, the set was nice, and the song is fun, and the Trings are being looked after well, and your friends were nice, and,’ she draws a deep, shuddering breath, ‘your girlfriend was nice too, I suppose. Very elegant. I’m going back to Delhi tomorrow.’

Samar stares at her, unreasonably, absurdly disappointed. Why is she leaving? It’s a six-day shoot, and it’s as glamorous as it gets. She lives in Delhi, for heaven’s sake, and talks to tailors.

‘Okay,’ he manages to say.

In reply, she tosses her head and looks out of the window.

Samar stares at her averted head, frustrated. He’s been aware of her presence on his set all day, he admits now. He knew where she sat, what she ate, whom she spoke to, when she laughed, when she took a phone call. This has never happened to him before. He has always been able to focus on his work completely, no matter who is visiting.

‘You wanna get a coffee before you go?’

He regrets the words the moment they’re out of his mouth. Damn—now he sounds needy as hell. Resentfully, he waits for this impossible girl to turn him down.

‘But you don’t drink coffee,’ Bonu mutters. ‘You drink cold water. Whole bottlefuls at one go. Like a camel.’

Samar’s heart gives a glad, upward leap.

‘You stick your hair up into a Samurai knot with a Natraj pencil whenever you’re about to fight with people,’ he retorts.

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