Azeeza Maheshwari Khan was a successful carpeteer, with her label Baraka, catering to a line of elite loyalists. Her story was out of a fable, where success flew on carpets across clouds into countries. But she desired a corporate clientele now, a company which would only wall her designs in thick boardrooms inside thicker frames.
Once over a brunch at The Leela, she chanced upon the extremely powerful couple of the Mumbai constructions site, Firoza and Zubin Bharucha. Out of their page three shine, they looked even more glamorous. Especially with their year old son in between, they attracted envious glances from fellow brunch-mates.The woman looked nothing short of a show-stopper, and the man? Well, the man was what every woman would die to live with -- caring, considerate, cute. This is an ideal company to hold hands with. Daadu, you would have been so excited. Not so much you, Ibrahim. She looked across the room towards the buffet from which Ibrahim, in his beefed-up muscle showing royal blue t-shirt and football playing calf muscle on display beige shorts, smiled back at Azeeza, inquiring whether she would like a glass of orange juice as well. Azeeza nodded in negative. She was enjoying her chocolate rich coffee, her mind whirling to catch up with her ambitions. With what-ifs.
Meanwhile, at the corner table, Firoza was eyeing Azeeza. She needed a smart socialite to represent her profile and manage her lifestyle. Interviews for such personalized work were a passe. She needed someone from the community of her movers and shakers to live up to her schedule, with glitters. This girl seemed in control of her shimmer and status. She had the aura of an achiever. She would be good.
While collecting his glass of orange juice, Ibrahim found Firoza eyeing Azeeza. What a fucking fantastic looking woman! What shoulders! What a neckline! And that fucking pendant! Bloody sitting right in the middle of what must be two beautiful breasts! What a turquoise! As he walked back to his table, he looked at her even more directly and lulled over how wonderful her lips must be to kiss. Like honey over Greek yogurt, maybe? He was finding it impossible to stray his look elsewhere. Azeeza seemed too preoccupied with the consistency of her pasta anyway. Golf was his passion. He wondered how it would be to invite her to a round of golf at his club. But how? Just at that moment, Firoza got up from her table to collect her son who was after his soft ball. And walked straight past Ibrahim. What a leach! Doesn't even know how to eye a woman subtly. Bastard. She picked up her son in her arms, smiled saintly to whoever wished to capture its essence and walked back to her table, leaving a trail of Gucci.
Bloody woman wears Envy. Azeeza did not miss the attention the Bharuchas were absorbing. Where did the husband go? I am sure he is henpecked. Oh how nice it would be to pocket that guy. Damn the pasta. How dare they overdo the sauce? 'I say, Ibrahim, I was thinking of an expansion. For Baraka. Thinking of a source by which we could do an entire housing facility.' Her expressions went alive, the room lit up. 'Think. Each apartment of a complex would have Baraka Carpets. Some on the walls, some on floors, some others could get it on their ceilings! Can you imagine the popularity? Each will be different, of course!'
How does she do this? Thinking the wildest possibilities so craftily? 'Brilliant, Azu, but wild. And how do you propose that will happen?'
'Oh Ibrahim! Allah is great, don't you say? I am sure some way will come up. Don't worry. Eat.' Like hell your plan would work, Azu. 'I might need a favour from you though.'
'Anytime, Azu.' Shit. This sounds dangerous now. What might she be after? Abbu's ancestral property in Pathankot?
Zubin was enjoying a Corona at the bar-top when on inquiry he was told that Ibrahim Khan was a pro-golfer who had to let go of it for the sake of an empire in Cements handed down to him by his aunt. This was a surprise which till date Ibrahim could not decide, changed his life for good or for worse. Cement. Golf. Eyeing Firzi. Nice combination. Let's get you to work.
As the two couples departed, each took back their own thought to cultivate.
That night over an intense love-making, and sweet nibbles faked of ecstasy, Azeeza whispered into Ibrahim's ears. Ibrahim was too trapped between her legs and life to mouth a no. Completely spent, he lay beside Azeeza wondering if she could read his mind. 'I want you to sleep with Firoza Jehangir Bharucha, and get me that contract, as I devise, if you have ever loved me. You must do it for your Azu. Oh! Ibrahim!' Ever since the brunch, all that Ibrahim could think of, was Firoza. She had captivated his senses, his soul. As he kissed Azeeza, he imagined Firoza ruling over his bed, his body. And just when he was losing his sanity to ecstasy, Azeeza's whisper brought him back to the reality of the illusion. 'What are you saying, Azu?' Don't you dare retract from the plan.
Azeeza cupped his chin, kissed him tens and twenties softly. 'Please understand.' Bloody bugger. All over your eyes you have Firoza written in lust. I am doing us both a favour. Now put that ass to use. 'You will, won't you, Ibrahim? Would you rather have me sleep with her husband?' Oh, how I would like that for a change. Delicious!
'I am your husband, Azu! Don't ever say such things! I will do anything to protect your dreams, to make them come true.' This woman. Is she capable of that too? Is she not? He went back to kissing Firoza. The illusion over Azeeza. If this tastes so sexy, how would the real thing be?
Slightly snoring in the chiseled arms of Zubin, Firoza could sense he wished to discuss something. He was waiting for her to breach the sleepy silence. Feigning was a failure. 'Yes Zubi, what is it?' Bloody woman! This is why I always loved her. Her competence, her diligence. Zubin smiled. He was awfully betrayed with what she had done with the shares of his father's company. He wanted them back, restored to their individual galore resting in the throne of Bharucha Estates. And he knew it well that the only way he could ever do it would be openly, without the deception of his half-sister, now his wife. 'How do you always do this, Firzi?' She is expecting this line.
'Oh Zubi, for God's sake, say something new.' She looked up to his eyes. 'What happened, Zubi?' Although the world believed she used him and benefited from this marriage, she did love him. Even if out of habit.
'Since you had me promise to restrain myself from any kind of affairs,ever...' he took her face in his hands, 'only for the sake of the merger of Bharucha Estates into Jehangir Constructions, we will name it F.Z. Industries Private Limited, would you go around with this cement baron, Ibrahim Khan? Firzi, the government subsidiary had stopped and it will be impossible to make the merger possible without cement at a price we want. Please Firzi.' One, two, three, four. God, she is thinking it over.
'Why Ibrahim Khan?' Firoza was concerned, calculating.
'Because, Firzi, baby, he has no interest in business. It will be a cakewalk. The conversion rate will be speedier.' Please say yes.
'Let me think over. Is he as good looking as you, baby?' Like I care.
Conveniences exchanged, a couple of years later, over a brunch at The Leela, the Khans and the Bharuchas were discussing probable successes. The Bharuchas were now calling the mother company Jehangir Bharucha Construction Pvt Ltd. Their recent property was the talk of the investors and those from UAE and Germany too invested in the Baraka Condominium. Each apartment in it, was nurtured by the cement and clothed by the carpets of the Khans. The deal was the biggest in many years over the real-estate landscape. For every property that Firoza would raise, Azeeza would now foster. Everyone won.
Firoza gave birth to a beautiful daughter, and Azeeza to a son. The bookies were placing bets on the wedding of this toddler set and a subsequent Bharucha-Baraka venture twenty, twenty five years later. Mutual secrets were the best held ones.
Needless to say, the women had their say, their way.
Meanwhile, at the corner table, Firoza was eyeing Azeeza. She needed a smart socialite to represent her profile and manage her lifestyle. Interviews for such personalized work were a passe. She needed someone from the community of her movers and shakers to live up to her schedule, with glitters. This girl seemed in control of her shimmer and status. She had the aura of an achiever. She would be good.
While collecting his glass of orange juice, Ibrahim found Firoza eyeing Azeeza. What a fucking fantastic looking woman! What shoulders! What a neckline! And that fucking pendant! Bloody sitting right in the middle of what must be two beautiful breasts! What a turquoise! As he walked back to his table, he looked at her even more directly and lulled over how wonderful her lips must be to kiss. Like honey over Greek yogurt, maybe? He was finding it impossible to stray his look elsewhere. Azeeza seemed too preoccupied with the consistency of her pasta anyway. Golf was his passion. He wondered how it would be to invite her to a round of golf at his club. But how? Just at that moment, Firoza got up from her table to collect her son who was after his soft ball. And walked straight past Ibrahim. What a leach! Doesn't even know how to eye a woman subtly. Bastard. She picked up her son in her arms, smiled saintly to whoever wished to capture its essence and walked back to her table, leaving a trail of Gucci.
Bloody woman wears Envy. Azeeza did not miss the attention the Bharuchas were absorbing. Where did the husband go? I am sure he is henpecked. Oh how nice it would be to pocket that guy. Damn the pasta. How dare they overdo the sauce? 'I say, Ibrahim, I was thinking of an expansion. For Baraka. Thinking of a source by which we could do an entire housing facility.' Her expressions went alive, the room lit up. 'Think. Each apartment of a complex would have Baraka Carpets. Some on the walls, some on floors, some others could get it on their ceilings! Can you imagine the popularity? Each will be different, of course!'
How does she do this? Thinking the wildest possibilities so craftily? 'Brilliant, Azu, but wild. And how do you propose that will happen?'
'Oh Ibrahim! Allah is great, don't you say? I am sure some way will come up. Don't worry. Eat.' Like hell your plan would work, Azu. 'I might need a favour from you though.'
'Anytime, Azu.' Shit. This sounds dangerous now. What might she be after? Abbu's ancestral property in Pathankot?
Zubin was enjoying a Corona at the bar-top when on inquiry he was told that Ibrahim Khan was a pro-golfer who had to let go of it for the sake of an empire in Cements handed down to him by his aunt. This was a surprise which till date Ibrahim could not decide, changed his life for good or for worse. Cement. Golf. Eyeing Firzi. Nice combination. Let's get you to work.
As the two couples departed, each took back their own thought to cultivate.
That night over an intense love-making, and sweet nibbles faked of ecstasy, Azeeza whispered into Ibrahim's ears. Ibrahim was too trapped between her legs and life to mouth a no. Completely spent, he lay beside Azeeza wondering if she could read his mind. 'I want you to sleep with Firoza Jehangir Bharucha, and get me that contract, as I devise, if you have ever loved me. You must do it for your Azu. Oh! Ibrahim!' Ever since the brunch, all that Ibrahim could think of, was Firoza. She had captivated his senses, his soul. As he kissed Azeeza, he imagined Firoza ruling over his bed, his body. And just when he was losing his sanity to ecstasy, Azeeza's whisper brought him back to the reality of the illusion. 'What are you saying, Azu?' Don't you dare retract from the plan.
Azeeza cupped his chin, kissed him tens and twenties softly. 'Please understand.' Bloody bugger. All over your eyes you have Firoza written in lust. I am doing us both a favour. Now put that ass to use. 'You will, won't you, Ibrahim? Would you rather have me sleep with her husband?' Oh, how I would like that for a change. Delicious!
'I am your husband, Azu! Don't ever say such things! I will do anything to protect your dreams, to make them come true.' This woman. Is she capable of that too? Is she not? He went back to kissing Firoza. The illusion over Azeeza. If this tastes so sexy, how would the real thing be?
Slightly snoring in the chiseled arms of Zubin, Firoza could sense he wished to discuss something. He was waiting for her to breach the sleepy silence. Feigning was a failure. 'Yes Zubi, what is it?' Bloody woman! This is why I always loved her. Her competence, her diligence. Zubin smiled. He was awfully betrayed with what she had done with the shares of his father's company. He wanted them back, restored to their individual galore resting in the throne of Bharucha Estates. And he knew it well that the only way he could ever do it would be openly, without the deception of his half-sister, now his wife. 'How do you always do this, Firzi?' She is expecting this line.
'Oh Zubi, for God's sake, say something new.' She looked up to his eyes. 'What happened, Zubi?' Although the world believed she used him and benefited from this marriage, she did love him. Even if out of habit.
'Since you had me promise to restrain myself from any kind of affairs,ever...' he took her face in his hands, 'only for the sake of the merger of Bharucha Estates into Jehangir Constructions, we will name it F.Z. Industries Private Limited, would you go around with this cement baron, Ibrahim Khan? Firzi, the government subsidiary had stopped and it will be impossible to make the merger possible without cement at a price we want. Please Firzi.' One, two, three, four. God, she is thinking it over.
'Why Ibrahim Khan?' Firoza was concerned, calculating.
'Because, Firzi, baby, he has no interest in business. It will be a cakewalk. The conversion rate will be speedier.' Please say yes.
'Let me think over. Is he as good looking as you, baby?' Like I care.
Conveniences exchanged, a couple of years later, over a brunch at The Leela, the Khans and the Bharuchas were discussing probable successes. The Bharuchas were now calling the mother company Jehangir Bharucha Construction Pvt Ltd. Their recent property was the talk of the investors and those from UAE and Germany too invested in the Baraka Condominium. Each apartment in it, was nurtured by the cement and clothed by the carpets of the Khans. The deal was the biggest in many years over the real-estate landscape. For every property that Firoza would raise, Azeeza would now foster. Everyone won.
Firoza gave birth to a beautiful daughter, and Azeeza to a son. The bookies were placing bets on the wedding of this toddler set and a subsequent Bharucha-Baraka venture twenty, twenty five years later. Mutual secrets were the best held ones.
Needless to say, the women had their say, their way.
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