Nothing Silly about Fooling Around

'Not here! Not now!' screamed Umesh, at the distraught looking, uniformed security guard who was assigned to him. The black stone of his huge ring shone out of its brass holder as he pointed towards the door for the guard to leave. He resumed reading in the open backyard of his Nasik bungalow, suddenly undoing his clinched shoulders to take in the comfort of the armchair set in the garden. Placed under a huge tree, it had a small table beside it holding up a bottle of water, some grapes and a notebook onto which a Waterman pen was pinned. Ullekh Bhatia was quick-witted to send him off to pursue his 'artistic hobbies' at their father's playground, smartly keeping him off their printing business. 

The Umesh-Shreya wedding was one of the many multi-million weddings of Mumbai. Ullekh, back from Washington, with more money on his mind, could not believe his elder brother's fortune. No, there was no greed attached to the unavailability of Shreya, he had complete faith on his charm for that, but he wondered how much profit the Sabherwals made out of it. Surely Papa did not write off his vineyard without once consulting me. As the flight touched the Mumbai air-strip he recalled with the same bang, about the Sabherwals' running in loss wool factory in Ludhiana. Some deal must have transpired. 

Recording a huge profit in the eight months of his return, Ullekh stood appreciating his new acquisition -- a Jaguar -- out of his iphone. The morning rays were softer and he felt at home in his office even before time, when the team was yet to arrive. In a month of the wedding he realized the deal. Umesh was a disaster, at business as much as in his 'artistic pursuits'. He smiled as he realized how he had over-estimated his own intelligence.

It was in celebration of a month of their wedding that Umesh and Shreya had hosted a party for the immediate family. Even while the food was served, she hinted Ullekh, most harmlessly, to stay back for dinner. She had arranged for a game of poker with other friends having come to know that Ullekh loved a good game of cards. "That, beer and barbecued chicken wings." She smelled of the enticing smell of the Americas he did not know he would miss. 

There were of course, no other friends at the game of cards, which was an elaborate planning unwrapped fearlessly to the brother. Ullekh did not know whether to pity Umesh or admire Shreya. But most of all he was moved by her confident, matter-of-fact tone. 'Lets face it' she had begun, as she bit into a wing, 'you are the younger brother, about to be bereft of prime profit, and I am the daughter, never going to make a name of my own.' 

Her planning involved an abduction and affair. 'I am not interested in you either, by the way. Let's keep it at respect for partners.' Ullekh was a bit hurt at this blatant insult on his charm. He was bought. It was simple -- Umesh would be abducted; for a good amount of time; in which they would feign a compatibility of ideologies and stage a venture by virtue of which their financial methods would be appreciated; Umesh would be returned, bruised and battered enough to be sent away for a resting period in which Ullekh would ask for Shreya's full-time involvement and partnership in the business. It was running exactly to the threadbare details as measured by Shreya. Secretly, his admiration had somewhere even taken a turn towards devotion. No one complained.

Far from the profits of their business and the madness of Mumbai, Umesh sat back in his armchair. The unnecessary uniforms obstructed his view. He returned to reading. Over the last week, he had finally finished one whole script. The plot had unfolded over a period of the last eight months. As he mailed the attachment to Shreya, he added a note. 'Thank you, wife. The Mistress of Minds!'