Drenched

It was a night to remember.

Millions of eyes were glued to their television screens and many more to their computers or smart phones. The winner of the most popular reality dance show was about to be revealed and history was waiting to be made again. The lava of excitement that was brewing, boiled over as the dashing anchor of the show appeared on the stage to make an announcement of the upcoming surprise. It was not merely the announcement but the thrill, the mystery, and enigma in his husky voice, followed by silence—a deep silence—dramatized by the background music, which had set the scene for a thrilling evening.

Then abruptly but with surgical precision, the music stopped and the auditorium was submerged in abysmal darkness. After a jiffy of calm and murk, a beam of white light flickered, piercing the black and focused at a corner of the stage on a set of pale pink feet which fluttered rhythmically with beats of music. As if it was growing up on the music, the spotlight gradually increased its dimensions to reveal the mystery bit by bit. Millions of hearts started pounding faster; some in excitement, some in amazement, some in doubt, and some in denial.

As the sounds were getting louder in Park Studio Mumbai, on the other side of the globe, 13,000 miles away in Chicago, Kabeer had locked himself in a room so silent that he could hear his own breath. His mind was trying to analyse—to believe or not to believe that weird feeling, which his eyes had captured and heart had perceived.

The light was glowing enough now, to reveal the silhouette; a body wrapped in just the optimal amount of pink silk. Strings of silver, studded with shining diamonds were exposing the perfectly moulded waistline and the creamy texture of her back accentuated by the prominences of visibly moving edges of her shoulder blades. The fingers of her outstretched hands made melodious moves in unison. She was an amazing blend of beauty, confidence, rhythm, and elegance. As if Venus herself crafted in soft marble, she was perfect. . .just perfect.

Still in disbelief, Kabeer brought his phone closer to his eyes and waited anxiously for the dancer on stage to turn her face towards the camera. And in the next moment she did; but only up to half way though.

Aditya Parthasarthi, a famous journalist in the capital city of India, sat in his study with the door shut to the outer world, watching her performance live on his laptop. Aditya outlined her forehead, the bridge of her nose, the slant that followed, waited at the tip for a moment and gently jumped down to touch her lips with the pulp of his index finger on his computer screen. “Avantika, you are amazing, as always.” He sighed.

Avantika was his first crush. A crush is the most beautiful feeling in the spectrum of various shades of love, he thought. Mostly unfulfilled, a crush is like a whisper, said...but still unsaid.

“Avantika? Oh my God!” Kabeer blinked twice in disbelief, as her full face was now visible, focused and magnified. She was picture perfect, but the thing that made her perfection complete was the single strand of hair imperfectly hanging over the side of her face. He had always known her to be beautiful. Yet, today again, his heart skipped a beat on seeing her. Was it love, jealousy or disbelief? He could not figure it out.

“Kabeer, open the door!” Hearing a bang on the door he realized where he was. The shriek and bang on the door of his room belonged to Carol, his fiancée. He had no choice but to close the window on his phone and open the door to his present world 

As she stepped out of the studio with four others escorting her, a lovely surprise awaited. It was a chilly December night; Avantika tried to cover her bare ivory shoulders with a cherry-red scarf and adjusted her chocolate brown curls. Standing at the top of a Victorian staircase with her head held high, she scanned down and saw a huge sea of heads and hands moving in excitement. They were waiting to get a glimpse of her, to share a small piece of her new-found stardom. She stopped there for a moment. This was what she had toiled hard for and she didn’t want to hurry now. It was nothing but the purest form of adrenaline that was gushing in her veins at that moment.

After acknowledging her fans and relishing the adrenaline surge for some time, she decided to avoid the same world she had always wanted to win. She turned back, went out of the side exit, and then sat in a black Limousine that had been waiting patiently the entire evening for the arrival of the winner.

“Take me home,” she gently said to the chauffeur who looked back at her in confusion as if asking her to spell out an address. In that moment, Avantika realized that there was only one place on earth she wanted to be. A place from where it all started, and the only person she wanted to be with, was herself.

“Will you take me to Pune?” she mumbled as she closed her eyes.

The car was speeding now, but the farther it went the stronger she could hear those magical reverberations being repeated again and again: “Avantika. . . Avantika... Avantika. . .”