Fiction: Finding Her Place

By Swetha

When Aditi walked up the steps to the hall, the gentle breeze from the Arabian Sea tousled her perfectly groomed hair. She instantly put her hand on it and hurriedly smoothened it. She looked around nervously, wondering if anyone had seen her. She was relieved to visit to see the camera crew focused on another celebrity author. The woman flashed a radiant smile, posed, and retreated into the hall, a departing figure in a golden saree with glittering diamonds on her ears. Aditi recognized her as the woman who had snubbed her at a recent literary event. She blinked at the sudden display of grandeur, ran her fingers down her plain white dress, and her lips quivered—the incessant honking of the cars behind startled Aditi. Typical of the Mumbai city traffic, she thought. Yet the honking couldn't drown the noise of voice that swirled in her head along with numerous thoughts. Eventually, she was fixated on one person she knew as the literary mafia queen and longed to be in her good books. Disha Aryan had been the epitome of Aditi's obsession for a while.

Will she be the recipient of the debut author in the nonfiction category? Will society accept her as a serious writer? Most importantly, will Disha Aryan finally acknowledge her as a part of the literary community? Will she eventually eliminate her image of being this girl from a small town? Will she achieve her dream of being a full-time author? Taking out her mobile from her black handbag, she quickly dialed her husband. 

"Ajay, where are you?"

"Stuck in traffic. I will be there in twenty minutes. All, ok?"

"Umm yeah…. just..."

"Relax. I can see the award in your hands already."

"Thanks, Ajay," Aditi took a deep breath.

Aditi glanced at the watch and surveyed the room. She felt invisible among the crowd of journalists, editors, publishers, and authors dressed in their splendor. She enviously glanced at the women flaunting their designer gowns and sarees and gazed in awe at the men suited up in formal shirts, black trousers, and blazers. Some of the older men wore kurtas and pants. Their tone, diction, and eloquence reflected their illustrious backgrounds, where their parents were writers or journalists. Almost all of them were alumna of Ivy League schools. Aditi chewed on her fingernails, cringing at her pink nail polish taste. She coughed and instantly reached out to the waiter carrying a tray of water in paper cups. She clutched her cup of water and observed. The hands usually weaved stories were now clasped around glasses of carefully blended cocktails. Like their books, they had an interesting blend of drama, thrill, and emotion. And what a plethora of colors. The women wore red, pink, and yellow sarees and evening gowns. Their lips oozed with equally bright shades that could be spotted from a mile. The black eyeliner and kohl made their eyes look a lot bigger. Some ladies had enormous earrings dangling from their ears, reminding her of a hoopla ring.

Aditi noticed how their laughter tittered across the rectangular-shaped hall. Like bells chiming. Unlike the loud guffaws, she and her family displayed in response to a joke. She immediately felt uncouth. The conversations in the room rangedfrom heated discussions about books to opinionated judgments on the works of their co-authors. Would she ever be able to hold her own and converse with these elite folks? Would they even listen to her? Probably not. She'd sound like a goat bleating amidst a pride of lions. Aditi's eyes were fixated on a woman whose chin-length hair with blond highlights gave her a unique appearance. She immediately recognized Disha Aryan, whoseface exuded a certain haughtiness.

Typical those who were influential in the community. Aditi felt plain; seeing Disha's bright red chiffon saree with heavy chunks of jewelry and her big round bindi on her forehead made her stand out from the rest of the crowd. That tennis ball-like red dot on her broad forehead was her trademark. She heard a lot about Disha Aryan being a renowned columnist, critic, and author whose books revolved around characters from Mumbai's elite social circles. Her favorable reviews in a leading newspaper helped some titles find their place on the bestseller lists. Her negative reviews would instigate some authors to go into hiding until they found the courage to pick up their pens again and get those creative juices flowing. It was no wonder both budding and renowned authors yearned to be in her good books. Aditi was eager to join the bandwagon. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, placed on one side of the wall. She ran her fingers through the thick black hair that fell down her shoulders. A dash of mascara highlighted her dark brown eyes, lips smeared with just a gloss, and her face had minimal makeup. Tiny pearl earrings complimented the white knee-length dress she had just purchased from the mall. Thirty-two-year-old Aditi felt plain in front of the exotic display of colors. Just then, that woman author she'd seen at the beginning went past her. Aditi tried to smile and say hello. Without a smile, the woman scanned her head to toe, rolled her eyes, and walked toward Disha. 

*

A few months ago, at a literary fest, Aditi approached this woman and meekly introduced herself as a debut author and a fan. It only elicited a tight-lipped smile, and the woman author's eyes averted towards someone else. It left Aditi with a broken self-confidence. Perhaps, this is typical of how famous and successful people behave, Ajay reiterated. Aditi accused him of not empathizing with her and brooded. After a while, she felt terrible, mainly because Ajay had supported her big decision.

They were seated on their balcony. 

"Ajay, I've been thinking..." she began.

"About what?" Ajay poured a glass of whiskey. "It's time to celebrate the success of Ctrl alt del."

"I've decided to quit."

Ajay peered at her closely. "Quit what?"

"I am done with the IT world."

"You can't be serious." Ajay's glass almost slipped out of his hands. 

"I can't take it anymore," she almost whispered. 

"Do you want a glass of whiskey or wine?"

"Please understand."

"This whiskey is good. Try some."

"Writing this book gave me this sense of fulfillment I don't find in my job anymore."

Ajay poured a glass of whiskey. "Ice?" he asked.

Aditi shook her head. "I was thinking of writing a novel. I have some ideas."

"The lights look beautiful today." Ajay gestured towards Marine Drive. 

"I don't have to burn the midnight oil. I'll have more time with you. " her voice trailed. She remembered when Ajay hit the bar with his friends, respecting her writing time and space. How she feared Ajay would find someone else. How she'd doubted him when it was ultimately through his network that helped her sign a contract with a reasonably well-known publisher. Her book miraculously found its way to the bestseller list and reviews on Amazon, thanks to the word-of-mouth reviews by Ajay's network. 

"Is this what you want, Aditi?" Ajay finally turned to look at her. 

Aditi took a sip of the whiskey and stared at the lights. " These headaches and long hours are taking a toll. Besides all that politics…."

"Are you sure?"

"If you aren't happy, then maybe…."

"Will you be happy?" stressed Ajay.

"I almost dozed off at that meeting today."

"What about your readers?"

"What about them?"

"If they know you quit."

"Didn't so many bankers quit and become full-time writers?" Aditi pointed out.

"It's a big risk."

"Are you not happy, Ajay?"

"Will you be fine?"

"We will be happy," she placed her palm over his. 

Another thought struck her. "But what about our plans for the house…."

Silence ensued between them. 

"We'll deal with it later," Ajay said.

*

Soft music streamed out of the speakers, jolting Aditi to the present. It was a song she recognized that was written by a renowned poet who was incidentally the chief guest for tonight's awards function. She watched the lights in the hall twinkle like the stars in the night sky. Waiters carried trays with glasses of water, delicious paneer, and chicken tikkas served with green coriander chutney. Despite some obnoxious behavior meted out by the elite folks, the smiles remained pasted on their faces. Aditi grabbed a piece of paneer from the waiter's tray and gobbled it. The spices made her choke and cough, compelling her to signal to the waiter carrying water. She felt better after the cold water trickled down her throat.

In one corner of the hall was a bar counter where columnists and journalists had gathered. The flowing wine and beer elevated their decibels, and their voices reached Aditi. She managed to get a few glimpses of their conversation.

"Sad what happened to Kabir. I miss his exhibitions."

Silence lingered over the group: solemn expressions, quieter tones. Aditi gasped as she realized they were talking about her favorite artist. She moved closer to the group, trying to gather more information. She read some disturbing news about him and wondered what happened. 

"He was awful after his wife and daughter's death. Wouldn't talk to anyone. And then he just disappeared."

"Yeah…. did you see his latest painting before his mysterious disappearance?"

"The one about the underwater world?"

"It was the last remnants of his presence on that island. Wonder what made him go there."

"Was it a murder?"

"No one knows." 

Aditi watched Disha walk up to that group with a glass of wine. 

"So, what's the latest buzz now?" she flashed her smile. 

One of the men coughed. Aditi recognized him as one of the best-selling authors and nominees for the fiction category.

"About Kabir. You know how…."

A frown replaced Disha's smile. 

"Always a strange one, he was. Sad. Anyways, when is the chief guest arriving?"

Aditi gasped at the dismissal of the famous painter whom she admired. How many times she'd visited his art exhibitions? A chill ran down her spine, thinking about how such a renowned artist was made to feel invisible. She turned and crashed into a waiter, and the chutney trickled on her dress. She immediately bent down to pick up the fallen paneer pieces. 

"I…I am so sorry. I didn't see you...," she stammered.

"No problem, ma'am. I'll take care of it," reassured the equally embarrassed waiter. 

He handed her some tissues. Aditi grabbed them gratefully and rushed to the restroom, feeling a few eyes bore into her. What must they think? Her face turned red with embarrassment.

Thankfully the washroom was empty. She splashed water and tried to wipe the green chutney from her dress. Using the tissues, she managed to scrub them clean. A faint green patch remained. She splashed her face with cold water and patted it dry. Adding a touch of mascara and concealer in her purse, she appeared presentable. Just then, her phone buzzed with a message from Ajay stating he was still held up in traffic and would be there soon. Aditi took a deep breath and watched two women enter the washroom. They began brushing their hair and discussing a couple having undergone a miscarriage. Aditi quietly walked out of the room.

More people had arrived, and the hall was getting crowded. Aditi spotted Disha standing alone at the bar. The earlier group was now scattered across the room, conversing with different people. She cleared her throat and walked toward Disha. She replayed the scene multiple times in her head. How she'd approach her, try to sound poised, praise her work, and make an excellent first impression on Disha. With her heart beating fast and her stomach feeling like a thousand moths flapping their wings, she approached Disha and folded her hands.

"Namaste, mam."

Disha looked her up and down. "Namaste." She delicately held a piece of paneer tikka with a small fork. 

"Ma'am, I am…."

"These tikkas are amazing. Can you please get me some more?"

"Yes, sure, ma'am. Of course."

Aditi ran to the waiter, grabbed a plate of tikkas, and rushed toward Disha. 

"Thanks. I see you've forgotten the chutney, but never mind," Disha's eyes fell on the green patch on Aditi's dress. She placed the plate on a table at the bar and ordered a glass of wine. 

"Ma'am, I'm a fan of your book..."

"Ahh…. which one did you read?"

"Starry nights."

Disha stifled a yawn with her well-manicured hand with red nail polish. Just then, the bartender handed her a glass. 

"Oh. Right," Disha waved her hand. She took a sip of her wine before she spoke again. 

"So, I'm having a party next month, and I'd like to know if your team would cater.

Aditi looked flummoxed. "Ma'am... I…"

"Right, you need the exact dates. Let me check…." Dishafiddled with her phone. How long have you been working with them?" she nodded to the catering team. 

"Ma'am, I'm an author."

The loud chatter around them continued. Someone laughed loudly. Disha stared at Aditi and raised her eyebrows. 

"Oh. I thought you were… never mind," she waved her hand dismissively. 

"West link publishers, Ma’am."

"Oh, right. It's that IT book. Nina sent it to me, and it's still on my desk somewhere."

"Yes, it's actually about my journey in the…," Aditi began excitedly.

Disha tucked her hair behind her ear and looked around the room. Relief washed over her face when she saw the editor of a leading newspaper waving at her. 

"Well, you must excuse me. Enjoy your good time while it lasts. I'll see you next year if you are still around. Good luck."

Disha departed, a retreating figure in a dazzling red sari with huge earrings, her Luis Vuitton bag in tow. Aditi noticed something drop from her handbag. She saw it was a Parker pen and eagerly ran after Disha, who was conversing with a group of journalists. Aditi swallowed nervously before approaching Disha. 

"Ma'am, you dropped your pan," Aditi mumbled. 

The group stared at her for a moment. Aditi heard a chuckle. 

"You mean pen," Disha said. 

"Yes, pan, uh pen, you dropped your pen," Aditi stuttered.

"Well, thanks," said Disha. 

Aditi heard a giggle and glanced at the group. She stood rooted to the spot, and her eyes felt heavy with the unshed tears. Stars danced before her, and the figures around her appeared hazy. It almost seemed like another lifetime. 

*

In the place of a grown-up woman stood a gawky teenager in high school wearing a green and white uniform and an awkward smile. Aditi was standing in front of her class with a poetry book. She was new to the school and the coastal city in South India, trying to find her feet. Her banker father's job brought them to this city, different from Bhopal, where she had spent her childhood. She had grown up speaking Hindi while English was just a foreign language. Struggling with diction and pronunciation, she was eager to be well-versed in English, just like her classmates were. From affluent backgrounds, their stylish accents accentuated the words that flowed like poetry. How she wished she could speak like that one day. During a poetry reading session, Aditi heard a snort of laughter emanating from one of the popular boys. The beautiful lines from Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost ended up in stutters, stammers, and mispronunciations. Oh dear, she thought. This was different from how it was intended to be. She had spent hours rehearsing the lines. Her hands shook as she heard a giggle or two from the class. She glanced at the teacher, hoping she would reprimand the course, just like her mother did when any of her students misbehaved. Instead, the bespectacled English teacher with the big bindi and hair tied in a bun had a blank expression on her face. After Aditi finished, she politely thanked her. The bell rang for recess. When the teacher walked out, the rest of the students crowded around Aditi, imitating her diction and pronunciation. They burst into laughter and ran out of the classroom. The benches of the class appeared blurry. She wiped the tears and found her way to her seat. Suddenly she felt a surge of rage.

*

Aditi wiped her tears clumsily with the back of her palm. Blotches of black mascara were smeared on her hand. Just then chief guest walked in. The crowd quieted, and the music continued to play softly. They flocked to the renowned poet and spoke in excited hushed tones. Even the group of journalists surrounding Disha had sobered down. Putting on their best behavior, they walked toward the guest to pay to convey their regards. Most of them had interviewed him in the past and were hoping that he'd remember them. The sixty-year-old chief guest greeted everyone politely and obliged some autographs and photographs. It was soon time for the awards ceremony to begin. The crowd made their way into the dome-shaped auditorium. The hall was quiet except for a few people lingering near the bar and waiters moving around with half-empty trays.

“Where are you?" Aditi sighed in relief to see Ajay's name flashing on her mobile. 

"Near the bar," replied Ajay. 

Aditi turned to see her thirty-five-year-old husband dressed smartly in a formal shirt, trousers, and a tie.

"Hey," he smiled when he saw her. "Looks like your dress enjoyed the paneer tikkas and chutney as well," he grinned.

"Not funny, Ajay."

"Hey," he peered closely. "You appear out of sorts. Everything ok?"

Aditi shook her head. "Disastrous evening. Long story. Will tell you later. It's time for the ceremony. Let's go in now."

Aditi and Ajay walked inside the dome-shaped auditorium. Aditi was almost blinded by the stage glittered with lights, and a banner saying 'literary awards' was pasted on the wall in different colors. She observed authors, nominees, and journalists occupying the dark brown cushioned chairs in the front row. At the same time, Ajay found a seat designated for families and friends in the back row. He squeezed her hand and wished her luck. Aditi walked down the steps towards the seats in front. Most of the people were chatting with one another. Disha was right in the front row. Finding two empty seats in the aisle corner in the fifth row, Aditi sat down. Having no one to chat with, she began to fiddle with her phone, checking for updates on social media.  

"Hi there, is this seat taken?"

Aditi looked up to see a bespectacled man with streaks of silvery grey in his hair. It complemented his grey kurta and pants. His oval face was covered in a beard. 

Aditi drew a sharp breath. It couldn't be. Was it him? Shiv Jadhav? The man who had written several nonfiction books on winning and power. Aditi gazed at him and shook her head wordlessly. 

"Thanks," he sat down next to her. "By the way, I am Shiv."

He held out his hand, and Aditi shook it in a trance.

" I am Aditi." 

"Author of Ctrl alt del? Congratulations on the nomination."

Aditi's hands shook. She toyed with her hair and twisted it around her finger. She noticed Shiv looking at her in a confused manner. 

"You ARE the author of Ctrl alt del, right? Aditi Chaubey?

"Huh..y…yes, of course. Thank you," she stammered. Her face flushed, and her palms felt sweaty. 

She took a deep breath and spoke in a calmer tone.

"Sorry. I was just surprised that you recognized me."

Shiv furrowed his eyebrows. "Why is that?"

Just then, the emcee came on stage. Aditi admired his grey and black formal attire, which complimented his no-nonsense demeanor. He came straight to the point, starting with a welcome address, acknowledging the chief guest, the sponsors, and the big names behind the show. The emcee then announced the first round of nominations in the children's books category. The screen onstage flashed, showcasing the resplendent book covers and the authors' names. 

Shiv turned to Aditi. "So why were you surprised?"

"Huh?" Aditi was startled. "Oh, that. Well..."

What if he thought she was being oversensitive or immature?

"Actually," she began hesitatingly. Not many people from the community recognize or acknowledge me."

A knowing look appeared on Shiv's face.

Meanwhile, the emcee announced the winner on stage, and a tall woman walked up to receive the award. The crowd erupted with another round of applause.  

"Nothing has changed in the last seventeen years," Shiv shook his head sadly. 

Aditi looked at him curiously. 

"It was like this then also," he said with a faraway look. 

"I... I don't understand."

"You see that lady there?" he asked, gesturing towards Disha.

Aditi nodded.

"When I wrote my first book in 2000, I was told that a certain Disha Aryan would help my book get recognition. I was new to Mumbai and had secured a job in an ad agency then. 

Aditi listened intently.

"My publisher approached Disha for a review. But she refused." 

"But why?"

"It's complicated, Aditi.”

"I don't understand, sir."

"Disha and I come from Bhopal. We grew up in the same neighborhood. Her mother ran away with a rich man, leaving Disha and her sister alone with her father."

"Sir, even I'm from Bhopal."

Shiv politely nodded and continued. 

"Something snapped inside Disha. She studied hard, majored in English, and heard she had received a scholarship to the city's most prestigious college. She met her husband there, who is from an illustrious family. 

"They own Bharat Times," Aditi chimed in. 

"That's right. There was no looking back for Disha ever since. Besides, she looked through me at every event."

"She didn't recognize you?"

Shiv sighed. "You'll soon learn the ways of this literary world. Anyways it doesn't matter. Fortunately, other publications carried positive reviews about my book. It was even nominated for an award but didn't win. I wrote more books about leadership, strategy, positive thinking, and winning."

"Ajay, my husband keeps raving about your books."

With his right hand placed over his heart, Shiv bowed humbly and said, "Thanks."

He continued talking.

"I received much support from my professional network, which helped boost sales. Till now, Disha has not reviewed a single book of mine, nor does she acknowledge me."

"But her father and sister?"

"She disowned them, citing how her family died in the gas tragedy to her in-laws. Anyways, her husband isn't your regular guy. So, his parents were ready to accept any girl who'd willingly settle down with him." 

"I don't understand, sir."

"Last I heard, he was seen with his pants down with that journo over there," Shiv pointed to a handsome man in the navy-blue coat."

Aditi's eyes widened, and she fiddled with the keys on her phone. 

"Disha got what she wanted. Power, wealth, and fame. Convenient for both." 

Aditi swallowed, trying to process what she'd just heard. She almost felt sorry for Disha. And then she suddenly realized. She shifted in her seat and tapped on the armrest. 

"So, sir, that's why…."

A faint smile appeared on Shiv's face for the first time that evening. 

"She knows you are from Bhopal. Don't underestimate her. She would have researched about you."

The emcee's voice continued to echo in the background, followed by appreciative applause from the audience. He announced the nominations for popular choice awards in the nonfiction category. "And this year, we have a debutant author," his voice rang loud and clear. It was surreal to see her name flash on the screen along with the white cover of her book. Her head spun, and her hands shook on hearing her name mentioned in front of the literary world. 

"And I call upon Disha Aryan to come up on stage, announce the winner and give away the award," said the emcee. 

Strutting like a peacock, she opened the yellow envelope and walked to the stage. Silence cascaded through the auditorium as the crowd waited with bated breath. Her expression exuded disbelief, and her eyebrows almost touched her forehead. She blinked several times before announcing. "And the winner for the popular choice in the nonfiction category is Aditi Chaubey!"

Aditi got up and sat down again. She clutched the sides of her seat. The stage lights appeared like a blur. She walked to the stage, where Disha handed the award with a tight smile and muttered congratulations. The crowd clapped. Aditi glanced at her prize. It was carved in the shape of a stack of books in golden and brown color. Her name was written in tiny black letters. Suddenly the award felt heavy in Aditi's hands as she stood there waiting to give her acceptance speech upon the emcee's request. She searched for Ajay's face in the crowd and noticed a hand waving from the back row. She smiled and cleared her throat. 

“Thank you. This is a surprise. Kahan se shuru karoon? I want to thank my husband, Ajay, friends, and colleagues for supporting me. My publisher, West Link, for giving me this fantastic opportunity.” Aditi paused, feeling breathless; her stomach churned into knots. She closed her eyes and continued. 

“It's a challenging route. There were severe obstacles I had to endure right from childhood until now. Despite not getting reviews from top journalists, I am happy that my book still made it to the bestseller list.”

Behind her, Disha coughed. A titter went across the room. 

“God is kind. I want to write more books and win more awards. Thank you, everyone.”

When Aditi returned to her seat, Shiv congratulated her warmly. 

"This is a good break for you. Trust me, you'll go places. Don't let small thorns hamper your belief," he said.

The crowd began to disperse after announcing the final award winner and the emcee's vote of thanks. Shiv shook hands with Aditi.

"I must go. It was nice meeting you. All the best, Aditi." 

"Thank you, sir."

She watched Shiv disappear into the crowd. Returning to the hall, she noticed many people mumbling congratulations. Wasn't this what she wanted earlier? To be acknowledged by the community. Yet Aditi felt a strange twinge of unhappiness. It felt like a thousand needles were pricking her from the inside when she noticed Disha hugging the winner of the children's books category. She felt bile rising in her throat, accompanied by dizziness. Then she remembered Shiv's words.

"Congratulations," Ajay excitedly embraced her. "This calls for a celebratory dinner." 

"Let's go home," said Aditi.

Ajay looked at her closely. 

"Ok… Sure," he decided not to contest and give her some space.

After Aditi posed for photographs with her award, they walked toward the parking lot. The trees swayed gently, and the breeze tousled Aditi's hair. This time, her hand didn't reach out to straighten it. Cars still zoomed on the roads as they drove silently to their sea-facing apartment, which wasn't too far from the hall. Aditi rested her head against the seat and closed her eyes. In a flash, the incidents from her classroom and at the evening awards function played in her mind.  

"I met Shiv Jadhav," she said, breaking the silence. 

"Wow. Really? How was he in person? 

"Very nice."

Aditi narrated the entire conversation, and Ajay listened closely. They soon reached their apartment, changed into their night clothes, and sat on their balcony. They watched the beam from the moon reflect on the black mass of waves. Along the shore, the dazzling row of man-made lights added to nature's charm. 

"What a complex world it is," remarked Ajay. 

Aditi glanced at the trophy carefully placed on the shelf in her hall. She took her phone and posted a picture on her social media platforms. 

"Funny how I was reminded of that incident in school today. The past has a way of catching up with you." 

"Let's go out tomorrow and celebrate," Ajay said. "You have wanted to go to that beach café for a while. Let us grab some brunch and beer. What say?"

Aditi nodded.

The night sky dissipated to make way for the break of dawn. The rising sun cast orange hues across the sky. The newspaper was lying outside the door. Aditi skimmed through it while sipping her coffee. There was an article about the awards night with several quotes from literary critics. She read Disha's comment about the new debut author winner. She has potential and luck, but talent ultimately speaks.

Aditi felt the coffee taste like mud. She took a deep breath and felt tears welling in her eyes. Disha's comment lingered before she replayed Shiv's conversation. Should she give Disha so much importance and idolize her in that case? Why did she want Disha's approval so much? Her book won an award and rave reviews. Shiv also reiterated the same. Aditi took another sip of her coffee. Beneath that grandeur and splendor, Disha Aryan was a lonely and insecure woman. Aditi tore that newspaper page. She crumbled it and tossed it in the trash can. Aditi took a deep breath and let the coffee taste linger in her mouth. It suddenly had a sweet taste to it. She smiled and turned to the next page of the newspaper.

Swetha is an Indian author based in California and an MFA graduate from the University of San Francisco. She has published works across genres in 60-plus journals. She has received three Pushcart and Best of the Net nominations.