During his school years, he was known by his given first name. However, when he began his undergraduate studies in 1994, he chose to go by “Vicky,” his nickname. To his parents - the Mehtas - and among close relatives, he had always been Vicky.
For several years, he hated being called by his nickname in
public but that changed after the release of the movie Baazigar in 1993.
Shah Rukh Khan - whose character’s real name was Ajay Sharma - pretended
to be ‘Vicky Malhotra’ in the movie. Vicky Malhotra was stylish and suave, and
suddenly, the name ‘Vicky’ was no longer repulsive for the Mehta boy.
Right from his school days, Vicky was a very popular student
with an outgoing personality. He did well academically, was reasonably good at
sports, and carried himself with an easy confidence that drew people toward
him. Sociable and friendly by nature, he was well-liked among his peers, and
his charming presence rarely went unnoticed. He also had a noticeable
fascination with bikes, and it was no secret among his friends that he dreamed
of becoming a biker one day.
During junior college (in Mumbai, unlike many other cities
in India, students typically complete their 11th and 12th grades in junior
colleges rather than in school), despite being under the legal driving age, he
began riding his Yamaha RX-100 to college. It was well known that he wished to
own a Harley-Davidson Fat Boy - the same motorcycle used by Arnold
Schwarzenegger in Terminator 2: Judgment Day.
During college, Vicky maintained a stylish and modern lifestyle that suited his image, and coming from a financially well-off family only added to his popularity among girls. His father, Kamal Kant Mehta, was a successful businessman involved in the distribution of various products, including FMCG goods, consumer durables, hardware, fire extinguishers, and a three-wheeler goods carrier brand. Kamal Mehta remained completely occupied with his business throughout the day, yet he also knew how to party. He had many friends - something Vicky found extremely fascinating and aspirational.
Kamal Mehta spent most evenings drinking and socializing
with friends. He was a heavy drinker and had little time for his wife, Devyani,
Vicky’s mother. He possessed a cheerful personality and was often told that he
reminded people of the famous actor - Rishi Kapoor.
Kamal’s weekends were reserved for short road trips outside
the city, while holidays were devoted to road trips, good food, leisure, and
celebration. Unlike Vicky, who was fond of bikes, Kamal Mehta was passionate
about cars and owned several of them. However, his prized possession was the
Lexus LS400, which he purchased after learning that Harshad Mehta owned the
same model. For the uninitiated, Harshad Mehta was a prominent Indian
stockbroker in the late 1980s and early 1990s, known for his massive influence
on the stock market and for orchestrating one of India’s biggest financial
scandals.
Kamal’s weekend and holiday trips were often only with his friends. On the rare occasions when Devyani and Vicky were part of the plan, Kamal’s friends - and their families - would also join. Kamal spent lavishly on his friends. He was a generous man who did not think twice before doing so. He was also extremely trusting. In most of his businesses, he had made his friends his business partners simply to remain close to them and to look after them. He had also loaned large sums of money to an endless list of friends. He neither maintained proper records nor did he concern himself with repayment.
While Kamal appeared largely absorbed in his own world, he
loved Vicky and cared for him in his own ways. His relationship with Devyani
was complicated. He provided for her generously and often bought her gifts yet
rarely spent meaningful time with her. In the early years, drawn by his charm
and sociable nature, Devyani suspected that Kamal might be a womanizer, which
she believed explained his preference for travelling without his family. Over
time, however, she realized this was not true. Kamal was simply a fun-loving
man who enjoyed companionship and social life but remained loyal to his family
and principled in his conduct. Nevertheless, Devyani remained frustrated with
Kamal’s lifestyle and choices, Vicky, on the other hand, admired it deeply and
wished to emulate his father.
In early 1997, before Vicky could complete his Bachelor of Commerce degree at Narsee Monjee College of Commerce and Economics, his father, Kamal Mehta, passed away unexpectedly. Vicky was on campus when someone came to inform him. The news left him stunned and shattered.
While his father’s death appeared sudden, Vicky soon came to
know that Kamal had been struggling with several lifestyle-related health
issues. Kamal had always been slightly overweight and was living with diabetes.
His demanding work schedule and frequent social engagements had severely
disrupted his sleep cycle, and he was also suffering from Obstructive Sleep
Apnea (OSA). Kamal had largely ignored these conditions. Devyani was aware of
his health issues, but the details had not been shared with Vicky.
However, his father’s health problems were only the
beginning of Vicky’s harsh awakening.
In the days following Kamal’s death, Vicky discovered that
much of the life he had grown up believing in had been built on fragile
foundations. He realized that most of his father’s money, assets, and above
all, his friends, disappeared almost immediately. The friends on whom Kamal had
sworn by and on whom he had spent his time and money never came forward to
support Vicky and his mother. Since they were also business partners, they took
control over most of the assets and funds and told the family that the
businesses were riddled with debt and that most of the assets had been used as
security for loans. Due to the lack of paperwork and, perhaps, lack of interest
or emotional strength to fight, Devyani did not pursue the matter and accepted
her fate.
The only friend who stood by the family was Yashvardhan
Kumar, a college classmate of Kamal, whom Kamal referred to as ‘Yash’ and whom
Vicky called ‘Kumar Uncle’. Yashvardhan Kumar was also a businessman, but he
was never part of Kamal’s usual ‘gang’, primarily due to his dislike for
Kamal’s other friends. He ensured that Devyani and Vicky were able to retain
their house and receive some money and control over a couple of businesses. They
also got his father’s deep red colored Lexus LS400. This support ensured
that Devyani and Vicky had at least a few things left to help them pick
themselves up and move ahead in life.
While all was not lost, Vicky’s life changed completely
after his father’s demise. For a few months, he withdrew into a shell; barely
talking to anyone and avoiding his usual activities such as riding, going out
with friends, and partying. Eventually, he managed to pull himself together and
complete his graduation. Throughout this period, Vicky kept thinking about his
father. While Kamal had appeared to have everything under control, in reality,
he had been reckless with many of his life choices. From idolizing his father,
Vicky gradually began almost resenting him and blaming him for putting both him
and his mother in such a difficult situation. Perhaps he was also unhappy that
he would no longer be able to follow his dreams and would have to lead a life
very different from what he had once envisioned.
Vicky was also worried about his mother, who did not show
much emotion after Kamal’s death. Upon speaking with her, Vicky realized that
although she was indeed heartbroken and missed her husband, not much had
changed in her life. She had never cared much for money, the house, or any
other luxury. What she had wanted from Kamal was time and togetherness, which
she had not received. During their days together, she longed for special
moments with him, but Kamal would not even remember their wedding anniversary
or her birthday. Now that Kamal was no longer there, her daily life remained
largely the same.
Somewhere during those difficult months, Vicky made a silent
promise to himself. He decided that he would never live the way his father had.
He would not allow ambition, status, or reckless choices to consume his life.
He wanted to become someone who valued stability over appearances, loyalty over
popularity, and relationships over social prestige. He promised himself that if
he ever built a family of his own, he would be present for them in ways Kamal
had never been. He would take responsibility for his actions, protect the
people who depended on him, and never mistake outward success for true
fulfilment.
Vicky started going to the office and reviving his father’s
businesses that he had gained control of. He began working immensely hard. He
had inherited his father’s business acumen. While he spent long hours at the
office, he also ensured that he maintained a healthy lifestyle and work–life
balance. He made it a point to go to bed by 10:00 PM every day. Unlike his life
prior to his father’s demise, he completely quit partying and drinking. He
would wake up at 4:30 AM and practise yoga at 5:00 AM every day. He would go
for a jog afterwards and have his breakfast sharp at 8:00 AM. At 9:00 AM,
before his office staff arrived, he would reach the office and immerse himself
in work. On most days, he left the office at 5:30 PM and went home to spend
time with his mother.
Amidst his increasingly busy and disciplined routine, Vicky no longer found time to ride his motorcycle - something he missed deeply, though he rarely admitted it even to himself. Over time, he began convincing himself that riding was an unsafe and impractical passion, a youthful indulgence that no longer had a place in the life he was trying to lead.
In an effort to suppress that lingering attachment, he sold
his Yamaha RX-100.
He also had the option of using his father’s Lexus LS400,
but by then, the car had come to symbolise much more than luxury. To him, it
represented many of the choices and excesses that had defined Kamal Mehta’s
life - choices he had consciously decided to move away from. He sold the Lexus
as well and bought a far more modest and practical Opel Astra.
The car’s registration number was MH04X7431.
He specifically chose the number 7431 because it had once
belonged to his Yamaha RX-100 - a quiet reminder of a part of himself he had
tried hard to leave behind, yet could never completely let go of.
And despite all his efforts to distance himself from his
father’s tastes and lifestyle, there was one detail he could not resist.
He bought the Opel Astra in deep red — the exact same colour
as Kamal Mehta’s Lexus.
Perhaps the biggest change in him was that he stopped using
the name “Vicky” altogether. Gradually, he began introducing himself by his
official name instead, almost as if he wanted “Vicky” to slowly disappear. Over
time, most people around him came to know him only by that identity.
By late 1999, his hard work and discipline had begun to pay
off, and the businesses were flourishing. But did it make him happy? When he
looked at the Profit and Loss (P&L) statements and saw positive numbers, it
gave him a sense of relief - nothing more. It never brought a smile to his
face. He would tell his mother - and himself - that he was happy, but the words
sounded hollow.
He had changed completely. Everyone around him, including
Devyani, could see it. He had become the exact opposite of who he was before
his father’s death. The enthusiasm in his voice had faded. He now spoke softly,
slowly, and with careful restraint. He allowed himself only one day off each
week - Sunday. Even that day was spent alone at Kumar Uncle’s beach house in
Alibaug, sitting by the sea for hours, lost in thought.
His mother worried that he had begun to appear like a sad
and uninteresting man - someone with no friends, no joy, and no companion.
Someone who approached life as a ‘to-list list’.
This changed on a fateful day on 15th September
2000. As usual, he returned from the office - which was quite close to his home
- at 5:50 PM. His routine ‘required’ him to spend some time with his mother,
but she was not at home. She had left for Pune, leaving behind a note that said
her sister was unwell and that she would return after a week. The sudden gap in
his carefully planned schedule left him feeling clueless and restless.
He stepped out for a walk and, almost absentmindedly,
wandered into a nearby coffee shop he had passed countless times before but
never once entered. The place had a quiet, old-world charm - simple wooden
furniture, slightly faded walls, and the comforting aroma of freshly brewed
coffee lingering in the air. It was run by a chubby, elderly Parsi woman named
Delshad Irani, who seemed to know most of her customers by name. She moved
around the café with a natural sense of belonging, occasionally pausing to
exchange a few words with customers or offering them a warm, knowing smile.
When he entered, Delshad greeted him kindly, and the two exchanged
introductions.
He chose a corner table and was scanning the menu when he
noticed a girl sitting at a table close by. There was something about her that
made him lower the menu and look at her for a moment longer than he intended
to. She wore a pink top and blue jeans, her hair - slightly longer than
shoulder length - were open. She appeared cheerful, yet quietly reserved. He
felt an uncontrollable urge to speak to her but hesitated, unsure of what to
say. After a few moments of indecision, he finally gathered the courage to
greet her. When she responded with a simple “Hi” and an encouraging smile, he
asked if she could recommend something from the café. She suggested a cold
coffee and a chicken sandwich. He was - or had become - more of an espresso
person, but he ordered what she suggested.
A brief silence followed. Then he asked if she was waiting
for someone. She said she was, but it seemed her friend would not be coming. He
asked if she would like to join him, and she agreed. They
exchanged introductions. She told him her name was Pooja, and he introduced
himself by his official name.
What began as casual conversation slowly stretched into hours. They spoke about ordinary things - fragments of their lives, small memories, passing thoughts - yet none of it felt ordinary to him. He found himself enjoying her company far more than he had expected. He would ask her something, listen to her answer, and then continue looking at her long after she had finished speaking.
Without fully realizing it, Mehta Boy was beginning to fall
in love!!
Yet, around 9:15 PM, he started getting restless as it was getting
dangerously close to his bedtime! He told her that he needed to return home for
dinner with his mother, and they left the coffee shop after exchanging numbers.
The next day, before leaving the office, he called Pooja and
asked if she would like to meet again at the same coffee shop. She agreed. They
met again, and then again, for the next five days.
On the seventh day, 22nd September 2000 - a day before his
mother was scheduled to return - he called Pooja once more. This time, she
suggested they meet somewhere else. They chose an ice-cream parlour close to
the coffee shop. As they were about to part, Pooja asked where they would meet
the next time. He hesitated. He knew that his mother would return the next day
and his schedule would not have time for these unscheduled adventures. He told
her he would decide and let her know over the phone and they left the ice cream
parlour.
He did not call Pooja the next day as there was no time. He
was firm that he would not change his schedule as it would mean leading life
like his father. However, he was missing Pooja and was miserable. He went about
his planned schedule and hit the bed at 10PM but today sleep was on Pooja’s
side and ditched him in retaliation.
Next day, Pooja called his office and he was all over the
place while coming up with an excuse for not calling her. Finally, he told
Pooja that some urgent work has come up and it would keep him occupied for next
few days. He promised to call as soon as the work is over. He tried to
hurriedly put down the phone but right before he hung up, he heard a faint “I miss
you” on the other side of the line. This made him even more miserable.
Yet he managed to show restraint for 4 days. He would come
home and spend time with his mother but would remain lost in his thoughts.
Sleep continued to take revenge on behalf of Pooja.
While her son’s face lacked zeal and emotion in any case,
Devyani noticed the worsened behaviour and enquired about it. Though he was
reluctant, he told everything to his mother. She was expecting that the reason
would be something work or health related but was pleasantly surprised upon
hearing that the reason is a young woman. Pooja sounded like the answers to her
prayers. She firmly told him that he should call Pooja immediately and meet
her. She also told him that if he is serious about her and he must express his
feelings with her. Further, she told him that by not spending time with his
mother, he is not becoming a lesser son and her happiness is interlinked with
his happiness.
He felt both relieved and strangely certain of himself.
Without wasting another moment, he called Pooja. The happiness in her voice
when she heard him was impossible to miss, and she agreed to meet him
immediately.
They met once again at the same coffee shop.
For nearly an hour, he sat across from her, listening to her
speak and watching the subtle shifts in her expressions as she talked. Yet
beneath his calm exterior, the emotions he had been suppressing for days
continued to build. Every passing minute made the silence within him heavier.
Finally, he interrupted her gently.
His voice was quieter than usual, but there was certainty in
it.
He told her how deeply he had missed her over the past few
days. How the absence of her voice and presence had unsettled him in ways he
could not explain. He admitted that the silence between them had felt louder
than any noise in his life.
And then, before he could retreat into caution or overthink
his words any further, he told her that he loved her.
Pooja smiled.
But at the same time, she seemed to steady herself
emotionally before responding. She told him that she genuinely enjoyed spending
time with him and admired the way he listened and understood people, but his
confession had caught her by surprise. To her, it felt sudden and unexpected.
He listened quietly and replied that he was certain about
what he felt. But he also understood that she might need more time. He
suggested that they continue meeting, continue knowing each other better, and
allow things to unfold naturally until she arrived at the same clarity herself.
She smiled again and nodded softly.
For the next fifteen minutes, neither of them spoke much. They
simply sat there, exchanging occasional glances and quiet smiles that somehow
said more than words could.
Afterwards, they stepped out of the coffee shop and waited
for a taxi for her. While she was absorbed in watching the passing kaali-peeli
taxis and autorickshaws, he kept looking at her. Suddenly, a little boy
approached him with a bunch of red, heart-shaped balloons and asked if he would
like to buy some of them. He checked his pocket and realized he did not have
any small change. He did, however, find a five-rupee coin and asked the boy for
a single balloon.
After buying it, he gently tapped Pooja on the shoulder and
presented the balloon to her with both hands. He did not expect much of a
reaction and was slightly worried that she might find the gesture childish or
cheesy. To his surprise, she was genuinely delighted. It was getting dark, yet
her face lit up - surprise in her eyes and a wide, open smile that seemed to
erase the evening gloom.
It made his day, his month, and perhaps even his year. He could not remember the last time he had felt such uncomplicated joy. Unlike the quiet relief he felt when he saw growth in his profit and loss statements, the expression on Pooja’s face gave him a true sense of achievement and fulfilment. He silently promised himself that this would become their small ritual - that he would give her a balloon every time they met. Silly, perhaps. But then again, love is often silly.
They continued to meet. Days
turned into weeks, and weeks into months. What had begun as a chance encounter
slowly settled into a quiet, meaningful presence in his life. For the first
time in years, his days were not just structured - they had something to look
forward to.
He still followed his routine
with discipline, but somewhere within that structure, Pooja had found her
place. She brought with her a certain lightness that he had long forgotten.
With her, conversations flowed without effort, silences felt comfortable, and
time seemed to move differently.
He was happy.
Pooja, too, was happy. She
enjoyed his company, his attentiveness, and the quiet sense of security he
offered.
Then suddenly one day, Pooja
told him that her parents wanted her to meet the son of their close friends - Mulchandanis
- for a possible marriage alliance.
The news unsettled him.
She explained that she had
already expressed her reluctance and discomfort to her parents, but they had
insisted that she meet the boy at least once. She reassured him that she would
go through with the meeting only to satisfy them and, if the opportunity arose,
would make it clear that she was already in a relationship.
He listened quietly. For a brief
moment, unease crept into his mind, but it passed almost immediately. He
trusted her.
After her meeting with the boy,
Pooja called him to the café and told him about the meeting. The boy’s name was
Sameer Mulchandani. She described him as good-looking, polite, and well-spoken,
though there was also something carefree and boyish about him. She admitted
that she had felt unexpectedly comfortable talking to him because he, too, had
apparently not been very enthusiastic about the arranged setup. She even told
Sameer that she believed people should be in love before deciding to marry. And
somewhere during the conversation, she told Sameer about him. When she finished
narrating the entire episode, he felt relieved.
They continued to meet as
before.
On several occasions, he wanted
to ask her - clearly, directly - if she saw a future with him. But he held
himself back. He chose patience. He decided that he would give her time and, in
the meantime, do everything he could to keep her happy.
One evening, they went out for
dinner.
Midway through the meal, Sameer
happened to walk into the same restaurant and noticed them. After a brief
exchange, he joined their table without much hesitation.
He observed Sameer closely.
Pooja had been right - Sameer did seem goofy and slightly immature.
Sameer asked about their plans
after dinner and suggested they go somewhere else afterwards. Pooja seemed open
to the idea, but almost instinctively, she looked towards him before responding.
Sameer also looked towards him.
He declined by explaining that
he had a fixed routine - he needed to be in bed by 10:00 PM. Pooja gently reasoned
that one day would not change anything. Sameer also tried to convince him,
pointing out that the next day was a Sunday.
But he calmly explained his
schedule - waking up at 5:00 AM, yoga, jogging, breakfast at 8:00 AM, and then
spending the day with Pooja at Kumar Uncle’s beach house.
Then he excused himself and went
to the washroom. While he was away, Sameer casually asked Pooja if she would
like to join him later that night. She declined, saying maybe some other time.
When he returned, a waiter
followed him carrying three glasses of champagne. Pooja looked surprised and
asked what the occasion was. He said, with a rare hint of warmth in his voice,
that it marked the anniversary of the day he had first expressed his feelings
to her.
He was happy. He believed he was
finally doing what his father never did - celebrating moments, creating
memories.
Sameer and Pooja remained in
touch. He was aware of it and did not feel threatened. He trusted her, and
perhaps more than that, he believed in what they shared.
They continued their drives - long,
unplanned, and deeply cherished. Sometimes, he would even step out of the
office during lunch just to spend time with her. These moments meant more to
him than he cared to admit.
One day, Sameer joined them on
one such drive. During the drive, he pointed out the café where he had first
met her on 15th September 2000. A little ahead, he showed the ice-cream parlour
they had visited a week later. He spoke of those moments with quiet pride,
almost as if recounting milestones.
They continued meeting regularly, but slowly, almost imperceptibly, things began to change. At first, it was subtle enough for him to ignore. Her calls became less frequent. The conversations that once stretched effortlessly for hours now ended sooner than before. Sometimes she seemed distracted, drifting away mid-conversation as though her mind was elsewhere. The easy excitement she once carried whenever they met had started fading into something quieter and more distant. He noticed all of it.
But each time he sensed something slipping away, he convinced himself that he was overthinking. Perhaps she was stressed. Perhaps it was work, family, or simply the natural settling of a relationship after the initial excitement.
And so, instead of stepping back, he tried harder.
He called more often. Planned more carefully. Remembered more things. He became even more attentive, more available, more dependable - almost as if effort alone could hold together something he could no longer fully feel.
Yet somewhere deep inside, an uncomfortable fear had already begun taking shape. For the first time since expressing his feelings to Pooja, he felt emotionally helpless.
Then one day, Pooja called him and asked if they could meet at the same café where they had first met. Something about her tone felt unusually formal and it made him anxious.
When he arrived, she was already there.
The warmth and familiarity between them still existed, but now it sat beneath an unmistakable layer of discomfort. After a few moments of silence and hesitant conversation, she finally looked at him and said that while she genuinely liked him and cared deeply for him, she no longer saw a future for their relationship.
For a brief moment, it felt as though something inside him quietly collapsed.
But outwardly, he remained composed.
He asked her, calmly, if she had
met someone else. She paused. That pause said everything.
She nodded and told him that she had been seeing someone - it was Sameer. He had expressed his feelings, and they had been meeting for a few weeks.
He suddenly felt a sharp pain in his chest. He instinctively held it. She noticed and asked if he was alright. He straightened himself and said he was fine.
Then,
very calmly, he asked, “Was it because of him… or because of me?”
Pooja
looked down at the table. She seemed uncomfortable, as though she had hoped to
avoid answering that question.
“It’s
not that you’re a bad person,” she said softly. “You’re probably one of the
nicest men I’ve ever met.” He smiled faintly, but there was no warmth in it.
“That
usually means something is wrong.”
She
let out a small, helpless smile.
“You’re
too… careful”
He
frowned slightly, not fully understanding.
“You
plan everything. You remain in control all the time. Every day, every hour,
every emotion.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “Sometimes it feels
like you’re trying so hard to be perfect that there’s no space left for life to
happen naturally.”
He
said nothing.
“You
remember every date, every occasion, every tiny detail. At first, it felt
sweet. But after a point… it started feeling rehearsed. Like you had decided
what a good partner is supposed to do and were following it exactly.”
Her
words did not sound cruel. That made them hurt even more.
“You
know what I like about Sameer?” she continued quietly. “He’s imperfect. He’s
late sometimes. He changes plans suddenly. He says stupid things. He has too
many friends. He talks loudly, laughs loudly… and somehow, people are drawn to
him. Life around him feels spontaneous.”
She
looked at him gently. “With you, everything feels correct. But with him…
everything feels alive.”
For
the first time since she had begun speaking, something shifted inside him.
Too
many friends. Spontaneous. Careless. Fun-loving. A man people were naturally
drawn to.
He
knew this person.
Kamal
Mehta. His father. The very man he had spent years trying not to become. And
suddenly, with terrifying clarity, he realised what had happened.
He
used to be exactly like his father but in trying to escape his father’s
mistakes, he had removed every trace of the person he once was. The outgoing
boy who loved bikes, friendships, long rides, noise, laughter, and
unpredictability had disappeared somewhere along the way.
He
looked at her again, but now her words echoed differently in his head.
“You’re
too disciplined.” Not an accusation. A verdict.
He
was confused. For the first time in a long while, he felt uncertain about
everything around him. Too many emotions crowded his mind at once, yet he chose
not to say anything.
He looked
at Pooja and wished her well and told her he hoped Sameer would keep her happy.
Then, almost gently, he said that she could leave - he wanted to sit there for
a while. She hesitated and asked if they could remain friends. For the first
time, something in him stirred - a faint irritation - but it never reached his
face.
He
did not respond.
She
waited for a few moments, searching his face for something - anything - but
found nothing. And then she left.
He
wanted to stop her. He wanted to ask her what he could change, what he could
fix, what he could become. To ask her if there was still a way back. He felt
the urge to confront Sameer, to break his skull open. But he was not like that.
At least, no longer like that.
He
sat quietly, staring at nothing.
A waiter
approached and asked if he would like to order something. It was then that he
realized - he had not ordered anything for her. He paused for a moment and
said, almost mechanically, “Cold coffee… and a chicken sandwich.” The same order.
When
the coffee and sandwich arrived, he did not touch them. He just sat there,
looking at them, as if they belonged to another time.
He
sat there for an hour. During this time, once the anger, hurt and confusion
settled a little, he realized that Pooja was not wrong. She had not betrayed
him, nor had she mocked what they shared. She had simply wanted a kind of life
he no longer knew how to offer. However, the painful truth was that she had not
rejected who he ‘truly’ was; she had rejected the version of himself he had
deliberately become.
He
placed some money on the table and got up to leave. Just as he reached the
entrance, a voice called out from behind - steady, familiar.
“Mr.
Mehta”
He
stopped. It was Delshad Irani, the owner of the café, who had been watching him
from a distance. Over the past months, she had grown fond of the two of them.
Something about their presence had brought life into her café.
After
a brief pause, she called again, “Subodh...”
He
stood still. For a fleeting moment, he wanted to turn around and say: “I am not
Subodh. I am Vicky.”
But somewhere deep inside, he knew that would be too filmy….and untrue. So, he said nothing and quietly walked away.
