Milan Vohra - The Love Asana

‘There’s one more thing.’ Dev’s voice broke through Vivan’s musing. ‘Deepak has been very keen to recommend a particular lady, a young yoga teacher, as a brand ambassador for Fitness Fanatics. Someone called Pari Chand who runs a small studio in Vasant Vihar,’ Dev said hesitantly. ‘Of course, I’ve already told him that Fitness Fanatics can pull in any world-famous celebrity it wants; if you do decide to even have a brand ambassador,’ he added quickly.

‘And who is this Pari? Have you met her?’ Vivan asked, his interest piqued, eyebrow raised just the slightest.

‘Er … no … Though I did send someone to get her details.’ Dev pulled out a simple two-colour flyer from his briefcase, handing it to Vivan as he left the room.

‘Pari’s Purist Yoga’ the flyer said simply, with a picture of a slim woman in a classic yoga pose, one leg extended back horizontally, arms stretched forward like a graceful bird ready to take flight. Vivan’s eyes rested on the curve of her neck, its sensuous line accentuated by the slender shoulders in the sleeveless tee. The tilt of her head was feminine yet something in it suggested fierce independence.

Instinct told Vivan there was more to this recommendation. Why was Deepak championing a small-time yoga instructor when the Fitness Fanatics account wasn’t even in his bag yet? There had to be a personal connection. Men like Deepak Dewan were predators. Users. So either this Pari was Deepak’s latest squeeze or, Vivan allowed himself to hope at the very possibility of it, at long last a missing link had just fallen into place. The investigator’s report a year ago had outlined a family of father and younger sister that Deepak had cut off ties with after coming to Delhi. The father still lived in Chandigarh and Vivan knew there had been no contact between the father and son, but, concerning the sister, the investigation had gone cold. One way or another Vivan was glad he had bided his time before making himself known to Deepak. This was going to be worth it. He could feel it deep in his bones.

A year ago, Pari would never have thought she could be at peace with her life. For as long as she could remember, she had lived with a sense of fear. That any moment now something bad would happen and change it all again. Her mother dying when she was born—she could still maybe have come to terms with, difficult as it was. But then her father never let her forget it; constantly managing to make Pari feel responsible. When her father married again, Pari allowed herself to hope that somehow things would get better … that her father would stop being so nasty and mean, not just to her, but to all of them.

It hadn’t happened. Instead, her stepmother had become increasingly silent, afraid of doing anything that could bring on another vitriolic outburst from the man it was impossible for any of them to please, and finally just ran away. Then it was like the old times at home. Only many times worse.

The one thing that had brought it all to a head then was the one thing that was now helping her rebuild her life. Her yoga. Pari’s stepmother had introduced her to it. Their time practising yoga together had bonded them both, a refuge against the tirades of the day. When her stepmother left, the yoga became Pari’s lifeline. And the biggest source of annoyance to her father.

But that was long ago. Pari forced herself back to the present, exhaling deeply as she began her set of fifty surya namaskars for the day. A purist by nature, Pari never did her own yoga while teaching it. It was important to her to keep an eye on her students. This hour between classes was her special time for herself, when she could just put the past behind her and recharge herself with the calm only yoga gave her.

Vivan put the phone back on the table with a sense of irritation. Two calls, one after the other, had only served to remind him of the annoying fact that people sometimes did business based on reasons that had little to do with business.

The first was from Dev, delivering the news that Catalisis, a leading IT company associated with initiating the first big outsourcing burst in jobs, had suddenly decided against giving their multimillion-dollar uniforms contract to Fitness Fanatics. This, despite advanced stages of discussions and the fact that the company had acknowledged that Fitness Fanatics’ designs and pricing were unparalleled.

‘I thought you were confident this contract was in the bag?’ Vivan asked coldly. ‘Why would they string you along for a whole fortnight of negotiations if the intent wasn’t there?’

‘We had it in our hands,’ Dev said softly. ‘I had even shared details of all the vendors we source from.’

‘Without a signed contract? Was that wise?’

‘It was essential. They are a conservative company, sir. They like to be sure they are correct in every way.’

‘Every single aspect of our product is impeccable. Surely they can’t fault us on any of that?’ Vivan asked abruptly.

‘It’s just that, sir, they are a little old-fashioned,’ Dev mumbled.

‘Meaning?’

‘Er … I think perhaps it’s because Mr Mahesh Swamy is a very family-oriented man. And even though he’s retired and taken on a corporate mentor role now, the company ethos is still pretty much guided by him. Perhaps that’s why they, er … preferred to give the business to a like-minded partner like Karamvir Singh of Nirvana Designs. His wife and he are a very visible couple. His wife does a lot of charity work too.’

‘You’re not serious! That’s a pretty far-fetched hypothesis. Maybe you need to find out what the real inside story is.’

‘Actually, sir, my source within the company informs me that until the day that … er … photo of you with that Hollywood sex symbol came out in the newspaper, they hadn’t even considered anyone other than our company,’ Dev somehow found the voice to say. If he had to hold down his job as Country Manager, he would need to make sure at least he wasn’t keeping anything back from his boss.

Vivan cursed himself inwardly. Considering the many stunning women he had been with, he had still managed to keep a relatively low profile in the Indian media to quite a large extent. This bloody picture had been taken on a day when he had been escorting a desirable but rather needy blonde supermodel to the red-carpet opening of a show on Broadway. To his distaste the woman was way too interested in public displays of affection and the paparazzi had a field day. One of those images had made its way to a very undesirable tabloid in India. Usually that kind of nonsense never came in the way of winning him business. If anything, it had just added to the enigma—making him an even more coveted success symbol. But come to think of it, this wasn’t the first time Vivan had been given feedback of this nature.

In Australia too, on a few occasions lately, Vivan had wondered if his playboy reputation, albeit low-key, had worked to take away from the hard-core professional he was. He wondered if it was time he did something about it. Perhaps he would give some thought to settling down.

If this development wasn’t bothersome enough, there had been that other call with the investigation agency. Becoming one of the top ten billionaires in the US had got Vivan used to instant top-of-the-line service. His brief to the agency was clear-cut. They needed to check the antecedents of a Ms Pari, of yoga teacher fame, and do it right away. It was inexcusable that they needed forty-eight hours to get back to him. To think this was one of the leading multinationals in the investigation field he was speaking with! Yes, of course he knew this was the festive season, and of course he knew that during the entire period running from Id, Ganesh Chaturthi, then Durga Puja and Dussehra, right up to Diwali work practically came to a stop in many different parts of the country.