On The Subway (Part 5)

September 28, 2003

“This way, madam”, the airline official ushered her into the express check-in cabin, dragging her suitcase behind him. She wasn’t expecting to meet them here.

As she entered the room, she found two men clad in black suits, waiting for her. She heard the official close the door behind her, as he stepped out. The men got up to greet her. They took seats.

The taller one among the two men spoke first – “Your highness, I hope you do realize that your life is a matter of national concern”. She nodded her head.

“And this kind of uncooperative behavior is least appreciated by us”, the shorter man spoke, angrily.

The tall man moved his palm to silence his colleague. “Your highness, You are under mortal danger and we recommend you to be given Z-level security. Furthermore, you cannot travel outside the city till we have credible evidence against the threats you’ve received, from our intelligence”, he placed his hands on the table, trying to give it an air of finality. But you didn’t speak last if you were speaking with the princess.

She got up, took hold of her suitcase, and announced, “Thank you gentlemen for all your concern. But you would be better off focusing your energies on matters that are actually of national importance, and excuse me to live my life the way I want to”

The shorter man jumped up, shouting, “You have no damn idea what you are getting into. You’re not leaving this city”

“I’m leaving this country, and now”, her words were powerful, but poised.

“But what if you are attacked?”, the taller man was exasperated.

“The country will be better off with one less rich heiress and many more full stomachs”, she announced, tossing her will onto the table.

”Good day, gentlemen”, her voice echoed, as the officers still grappled with the storm that had just passed them.

September 27, 2001

“Why the hell is it raining at this time of the year”, her frustration was unmistakable, but undirected. As the manager opened the door, two escorts promptly took their positions on the sidelines. She stepped out, carefully avoiding a puddle and balanced herself with immaculate poise despite the high heels and the slippery turf. The escorts swung into action, opening two huge umbrellas to cover the princess from any earth bound droplet that posed the threat of so much as moistening her highness’ Egyptian silk overcoat. The manager ushered her into the hotel, the newest addition to the eponymous franchise she owned. As she glided through the entrance from the damp coldness of September rain into the air conditioned warmth of the hotel lobby, a series of blinding flash lights went off. Paparazzi surrounded her, and countless microphones and scratch pads came swiveling out of their pandora boxes. She felt sick, and exhausted from the air travel. She wanted to get it done and over with, fast.

An hour later, as she was waiting for the confirmation of her return flight, her mind wandered. She gazed out of the window and looked at the rain drops, falling into the enormous depth of the forty floors that stood beneath her feet. Then she looked up, and saw where they were coming from. And it dawned on her – the depths they had to travel were miniscule when juxtaposed to the heights they had descended. His words came back to haunt her – “You’ve become big, maybe, too big for me”

“Excuse me, Ma’m”, her train of thoughts was interrupted by the sterile voice emanating from the floating head that was peering in through the ajar door. It was the manager. “Ma’m, your flight is delayed by another hour. Would you want something?”, he politely asked. “No, I’m good”, she said, motioning the man to spare her some privacy while she had it.

“Contemplation is the poison of relationship”, he had said. She had to be decisive in her personal life, as she had been in her business. She took out her phone and dialed his number. Three attempts later, she threw the phone onto the floor, dislodging its batteries. Life had taught her to be a go-getter. If one door closes, build another. She opened her laptop, and zapped into her e-mail account.

Before she could click on the ‘Compose’ button, an unread message caught her eyes. It was from him.

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“Take that road, the one that is ugly, dark, infested with thorny plants and manned by devil’s minions. For it is that road that will lead you to your redemption” – he read the bumper sticker for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. It was time to pull the trigger. He took out his phone and dialed her number. An ‘Out of Reach’ signal greeted his impatience. He opened his laptop and began to type frantically.

“It has been three months since we talked to each other. The fact that both of us have gigantic egos that even a blast furnace can’t melt hasn’t helped matters. I thought I could forget what you said, or that you would have the gumption to free me from my ignominy. Unfortunately, neither has transpired. As it stands, it seems unlikely that we can ever get back together. The amount of pain you have caused me far outstrips the joy that you had once given me.

I leave for New York today, to rebuild the twin towers. And I’ll not return unless I earn enough money to buy your hotel chain, the one that you inherited from your royal descent and now so proudly flaunt, two times over.

Thank you for everything, and Sorry for anything”

He re-read the document, wiped the frown off his face, and clicked on ‘Send’.

October 05, 2003

“It was a mistake we made to let each other go. I am not letting go this time”, he muttered, taking her head into his hands, and wiping her cheeks. “I’m not letting go either”, she said, her voice choked with tears.

“What are you not letting go?”, the dreary voice of her aunt awoke her. She saw her crouched over the bed, holding the breakfast tray. She realized she had been dreaming the dream that was close to coming true.

As she was nibbling on the toast, dwelling still, on the pleasant dream that had greeted her morning, the phone rang. She picked it up with the alacrity of a school girl, expecting it to be him. The screen displayed an unfamiliar number.

“Ma’m, this is the Indian Embassy. We’ve received a standing order from the Indian Intelligence to give you 24 * 7 protection. Your life is under threat…”, she disconnected the phone.

As she threw the phone onto the bedstand, her eyes fell on “The New York Times” lying there. She picked it up. The cover page carried his photograph with the headline – “New York Real Estate Magnate to be honored in Chicago today”. She ran her hands over the paper replica of his face. A tear escaped her eye.

“I can’t do this to him. I can’t put his life in danger. He deserves to enjoy every bit of the success he has earned. I can’t be selfish. But…”, her voice was choked now, the same way she had felt some minutes ago in her dream. She picked up the phone again, and dialed his number.