Read Chapter 10 here

Post-processing was the bane of modern day photography, rued Jennifer as she sat in front of her laptop for the 12^th straight hour fuelled on company provided battery fuel aka caffeine. She rubbed her tired eyes as the images started blurring in front of her. She had to get these done before she headed out to meet Ms.Dutta for yet another photo shoot. She pulled out the pictures of Tara she had shot and tried to figure out why after two sessions she wasn’t able to capture the unknown and unseen faces of Tara. The other shoots for the women leaders project were a breeze. The pictures she was editing were the proof. They made her proud and her Boss happy. “Why am I not able to capture the perfect Ms.Tara Dutta?” The empty room echoed with her question. Throwing it back at her.

To her, photography was an art. She knew quite a few people who would not agree with her stance. Every image she clicked was art. Just because every other fool clicked photographs today didn’t make them artists like her. She as proud of her skills, even a bit arrogant. A good portrait is supposed to capture the essence of the subject and she wondered if she was letting her personal coveting of Ms.Dutta’s life cloud her artistic eye. I hope I will have better results tomorrow now that I have not seen her in a month, she muttered as she sent the completed photos to her Boss.

A quick glance at the clock told her that in a few hours the sun would be out and she would have to head to Ms.Dutta’s home,hopefully for the last time. She walked out to the windows and took in the sight of Mumbai at night. Night outs at work were not new to Jennifer and heading out into the darkness never had frightened her before. But tonight, she felt jittery to leave the safety of her office. She could blame the expensive camera she had to carry or the latest rape reports but the truth couldn’t be farther. “Admit it Jenny, you have been petrified since you spotted that Ahuja guy at the market the other day,” she mumbled resting her throbbing head against the cold window pane ignoring the demands of her stomach. Being hungry and crippled by fear was nothing new for her. But then she thought she had escaped those days. “The past is the snake around your neck waiting to strangle you,” she murmured rubbing the tattoo on her right wrist – the eagle and the prey. She had often thought about getting it removed or at least modified. The latest state-of-art lasers would make that tattoo history. If only, they could erase the memories.

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Tara owed her phenomenal rise at Lucky One Media to a number of reasons – a bit of luck, lot of hard work and punctuality amongst others.  Punctuality was one of those traits she valued. Being on time opened more doors than you would think it would, she thought as she sat back on the car mentally willing the driver to drive faster and the traffic to clear. She hated being late, especially for her meeting  – her last one with Jennifer. Her breakfast meeting had run over as the client had droned on and on on some obscure technology statistics while Tara fumed.

She was on her feet the second the driver pulled inside the shaded portico of her exclusive condominium and rushing towards the elevator. Tara had fallen in love with the modern, sleek apartment on the 17^th floor. Her eyes had lit up and dreams of entertaining the who’s-who in the media industry filled her when she had visited the place with an indifferent Shekhar 5 years ago. The dinner parties never happened and  Shekhar’s disdain to the place continued.

“Come on lift” she muttered pressing the call button with desperation. She was hoping to have a few minutes to fix her hair, makeup and chaotic thoughts before Jennifer showed up. It was a meeting she was not looking forward to and she hoped to have her game face on. The phone signalled an incoming text message and Tara was soon lost in the world of media dealings and wheelings. “Hello, Ms.Dutta” said a gravelly voice interrupting her fast flying fingers. Tara looked up to see a stranger extending his hand. “I am Aryan Ahuja – your new neighbour. I just moved in to 17C. I met Roohi and Mr.Shekhar yesterday when I was moving in and they invited me for a cup of tea. What a beautiful family you have! I recognised you from the family photo in your living room.”

Tara’s eyes took in smartly clad gentleman in designer jeans and a bright red shirt. His black hair and moustache were trimmed close and sprinkled with greys liberally. He has a scruffy, rough look and sharp eyes thought Tara as she extended her hand. “A pleasure to meet you Mr.Ahuja. Thank you. My family means a lot to me. Where did you live before? And what is wrong with this freaking lift? I have been waiting here forever.” “The pleasure is all mine and call me Aryan. The guard was telling that there is some maintenance folks running some checks on the system and it should be here soon and to answer your question, I moved in here after spending all my life in Kolkata. But I am no stranger to your beautiful city or its hotels. I have spent so much time in Mumbai the past few years that I finally decided it was time to buy a home here and not depend on hotels.” Aryan explained as he signalled Tara to step inside the lift.

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Pout on her lips liberally coated with gloss, eyebrows up and tongue struck out, Jenny wiggled her fingers at the wailing child. The bus journey seemed to take forever and Jenny did not want to be late to her appointment. She hoped the dark circles and weight of memories weren’t visible on her face as she tried to make the kid smile before the bus pulled into her stop. As she entered her name and phone number at the Visitor’s Register kept at the apartment security office, her eyes fell on the elevator doors just sliding close.

“It cannot be. It just cannot be. Not a chance,” she muttered not believing her eyes and making the guard raise his eyebrows. “Wasn’t that Ms.Tara Dutta? I am visiting her.” Jennifer enquired her voice laced with fear. “Oh yes and that is Mr.Ahuja. He moved to 17C. All done madam” The guard volunteered pointing Jennifer towards the elevators.

So what happens next? Drop by the fabulous Ada’s blog and get your dose of Life’s Game.

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