Kanchan's Protector

Both of us are sweaty and stinky. He carries me into the shower, adjusts the water flow and temperature, hugs me, lifts my face up by my chin. Multiple jets of hot water hit our bodies and our faces with high pressure. We soap each other, I go down on my knees and take him in my mouth. He pulls me up. I look into his eyes and I know he needs me as much as I need him.

I pull him by his cock towards me. He seems to swell in my grotto. I match his vigorous thrusts with my own and soon enough we explode together. I then realise I have sunk my teeth into his right shoulder and he has sunk his into mine. There are three persons with bleeding shoulders this morning.

He is tender when he cleans my abrasions with antiseptic, and then it is my turn. We dress up, we have to visit Mike in the hospital. He kisses me again and speaks for the first time in hours.

"I love you Kanchan, and I am sorry."

"I love you, KK, I love you like crazy."

"I am unable to fathom how they knew we would be in that place at that time. I may have an informer amongst my staff. That is why I didn't let you speak in the car."

It hits me then. "Oh my god, KK, I put out on my Facebook and Instagram pages yesterday afternoon that I am doing a cross country run this morning. I fucked up KK, I almost killed you."

He grabs me before I go hysterical. "Just calm down, it is not your fault. I should have cautioned you." He strokes my hair and waits for my sobs to die down. It is his nature, he always takes the rap for my mistakes.

He kisses my cheeks. "Let's go now, I am relieved that no member of my staff has turned rogue." He says and takes my arm.

We walk into the ART Hospital and Research Centre. I am surprised that quite a few staff members seem to recognise him, many greet him with a 'Good Morning Sir,' some smile, one or two persons from the security staff salute smartly.

We walk straight to the Director's Room. The nameplate outside says, 'Dr Meera Kumar.' The secretary seated outside smiles at us and leads us in.

We wait, as the doctor is talking to a couple of her colleagues. She closes the file in front of her, hands it over to them and says, "We will continue with this after an hour."

When they leave, she walks up with her eyes blazing. "I told you KK, I don't want to see you in this hospital except when you are here for your annual medical exam."

"I miss you so much," KK says as he spreads open his arms. She rushes into them, and they kiss each other's cheeks furiously, again and again. Dr Meera is crying. Then she turns to me.

"Kanchan? I am a big fan of yours, I have seen all your movies." She hugs me, then says, "Don't mind all this, but he often makes me cry."

We discuss Mike. "It is just a flesh wound," she says, "it will heal soon and there are no debilitating damages. We will keep him under observation for another day, he can get back to work in two weeks. You guys need to be careful KK, a few inches to the left and his head would have blown off."

"We were late from our run by 20 minutes. In those 20 minutes, we had rain. Visibility fell and gusty winds are known to cause bullets to drift from their flight paths. I will find the guys behind this. This time there will be retribution."

As he speaks, his palm reassuringly grasps mine. I am convinced KK, like a cat, has 9 lives, I only don't know how many he has used up already.

Coffee is served, they discuss some new research that her hospital is doing and then we walk over to another floor to see Mike.

Mike's sister and mother are there, and they hug KK. He seems to be popular not just with his staff, but their families too.

We chat for a while and then we leave. But the scene of KK and Dr Meera hugging and kissing keeps playing before my eyes. I have no reason to suspect KK of anything, I am absolutely sure of his love for me, but there is a twinge of jealousy in my heart. I keep saying to myself that I can't let the 'little green monster' into my system, but I think it is already there.

KK drops me home, goes off to work and as my mind is not calm, I call my mentor and solace, Rekha.

She listens patiently to my description of the morning's events, and when I finish, she asks,

"Is he hurt? Are you hurt?"

She means to ask if we are physically hurt, for which the answer is 'no.' But how do I explain to her that there is a hurt in my heart?

KK returns. He seems upbeat. "You are home early," I say.

"I started to miss you," he responds with a grin.

"You seem very happy."

"Yeah, now that you are before me, I don't miss you, but it is time to kiss you."

He then modifies my cross country training schedule. His plan is to select various spots on various days, that only he and I know of beforehand.

Later as I lie in his arms and he holds me protectively to him, there is a tremor in my voice, as I speak.

"Can I ask you something, KK?"

"Anything, Kanchan, You are my life and I have nothing to hide from you."

"I don't know how this is going to sound, so I will be blunt. I know your past is not my concern and it doesn't bother me. I have great amounts of love, regard and respect for Rekha and that cannot change.

Rekha loves you. Every time she talks about you, her voice, her body language and facial expressions change. I know you love her too. Are both of you just friends or were you lovers anytime in the past?"

"Rekha is 30 years older to me, Kanchan."

"That is not an answer to my question."

KK looks at me and smiles. "Rekha is my mother, Kanchan."

"What...?"

"Rekha is my mother, I am her son."

"Oh my god, why do I open my mouth and put my foot into it? I am so sorry, KK, will you forgive me?"

"I think Rekha will be thrilled when she comes to know that young women think she is competition."

"I know Rekha was married to the industrialist Ajay Kumar. But I thought she had a daughter from him."

"That is true, you met her this morning, her name is Dr Meera Kumar. She is my sister."

"KK, I am such a creep. This morning, the way both of you were hugging and kissing, I thought she too was one of your former lovers. I actually felt jealous. Now I know. KK stands for 'Krishna Kumar,' and 'Kumar' is your surname."

"Kumar is my surname, but Ajay Kumar died three years before I was born. Meera is not my sister per se, she is my half-sister. We have the same mother but not the same father."

"Who is your father, KK?"

"By now it should be obvious to you."

"Who is it, KK? Don't kill me with this suspense.

"When Rekha's lost her husband who died intestate, she was denied much of her inheritance by Kumar's parents and siblings. Two years later, she was in Italy for a fashion show. She was 29. She met a dashing Italian who wined, dined, wooed, and courted her. He was a widower of 5 years and 20 years her senior, but love recognises no age barriers. When she returned to her daughter whom she had left behind with her parents, their love child was growing in her womb."

"Don Tomasino! I should have known. When he saw me, he said it has been 30 years since an Indian lady graced his home. He meant Rekha. You also laugh like him, KK, I dismissed that as an acquired trait, it is actually an inherited one."

"Rekha had a busy career, initially both Meera and I were brought up by our grandparents. But as we grew up, she turned out to be a capable single mother. When I was thirteen, we were told about our respective fathers whom we had never seen. It upset us that we were not true siblings, but we had grown up together so ultimately nothing changed.

From then on, I would visit my father every summer and often Meera would accompany me. Don Tomasino loves us just as much as he loves his two sons from his wife, my half brothers. They are in the family business and the reason you didn't meet them is that they are located elsewhere. Maria is my aunt, she lavishes her love on me. The room where we first kissed and snuggled, is my room from my teenage years.

Meera chose to be a doctor, and ART hospital was set up with funds from Rekha, the trust Ajay left for her and contributions from my father. ART is an acronym for Ajay-Rekha-Tomasino. After my MBA, Don Tomasino and I got a business in olive oil going. Post-liberalisation policies by our government made foreign trade easy. We also started exporting stuff, and most of my other companies are the result of mergers and acquisitions.

However, all my businesses are absolutely legitimate and above board. There is not a single criminal case that has been filed against me, my officers or my company. There are a few civil disputes which we have with other companies, even with the tax authorities but these are normal. If I win, great, if I lose, I pay the requisite fines and taxes and the matter ends there. I do have some sources in the underworld but am not involved with them. In some gossip circles, I am known as a gangster, that label helps sometimes, but I want you to know, you are my true love and not a gangster's moll."

I pounce on him and straddle him. "You know what is the best part of this story?"

"What?"

"I am the luckiest, most privileged woman in the world. I have an Italian lover."

"Half Italian, half Indian!"

"An even more sexy combination, KK, and for this, you will not sleep tonight."

Well, he did sleep, but only for a couple of hours before dawn.

KK: The Sicilian Defence

"We have information on the sniper. He is called Chotu or the 'short one.' He was contracted by Datta. He is good, but the weather fucked up his attempt. We can take him out of the scene cleanly, no questions, no traces."

"No! We are not going down that road. Buy him out, give him the amount promised by Datta for completing the job and throw in 25% extra. There will be no more attempts and he informs us if Datta tries any other stunt. Tell him we will be watching his family and noncompliance will have consequences."

"Letting him off the hook is not the right thing to do, Boss."

"I want to try something different, I have a plan. Just do as I say."

It is Christmas week. The premiere of Kanchan's movie is a gala celebration. The whos-who of the industry is there. There is glitz, glitter, hugs, air kisses, colour and jewellery. The TV crews are busy, so are the photographers, as the big names enter in all their finery.

Everyone is looking for their 10 seconds of fame. Datta is welcoming the guests, and Kanchan is also at the forefront. I notice Datta's hand trying to sneak in occasionally for an inappropriate touch, more crudely called a 'grope.' But Sadhana, dressed today in a saree, functioning as Kanchan's assistant is perpetually coming in his way, much to his chagrin. As we settle down in our seats, I am between Datta and Kanchan.

A cute TV reporter asks me to say a few words. "It is my best friend's day in the sun, I am here to bask in her glory," I reply.

"We hear that both of you are in a relationship," She remarks.

"I think friendship is a wonderful relationship, is it something else?" I ask innocently.

Kanchan handles it better. "We have a deal," she says, latching on to my arm. "If the movie is a hit, I propose to him, if it flops, he proposes to me, but we haven't decided whether the proposal will be accepted or not."

Everyone laughs, the answer is neither here nor there, though we expect to see some screaming headlines the following morning.

By the time we are 30 minutes into the movie, I know this is going to be a stunner. Kanchan is amazing, the music is ethereal, the suspense nail-biting the direction near perfect. I must hand it to Datta, he is a good director. If only he had also turned out to be a good human being.

An 'impromptu' press conference happens during the intermission, it is obvious that the questions have been planted and the responses are canned. The PR department has done its job and done it well.

It is a happy crowd that files out, Kanchan is surrounded by fans and other stars. Some are genuinely happy for her, others wear plastic smiles.

The TV cameras are still rolling, we are almost the last to leave. We are out on the steps of the theatre, waiting for our cars. Datta is flanked by his lead actors, male and female and I am next to Kanchan. Kanchan leans towards me with an affectionate peck and moves to the other side, obviously moving out of Datta's reach, yet maintaining a pretence that all is well.

Then Datta collapses, there is blood streaming out of his throat and mouth. There are screams, Sadhana throws herself on Kanchan and me, next moment we are sprawled on the ground. The same happens with the lead actor and his bodyguard, Datta's bodyguard also reaches him. The cops standing on the side rush in, we are herded back inside the building. An ambulance hurtles in, and there is chaos everywhere.

But the news is spreading like wildfire. Datta is dead, a great director is no more. Kanchan and the rest of the unit are visibly distraught.

At 8 AM, we reach home. It is almost 6 hours after the gruesome incident. The bullet has entered the throat and lodged itself in the spine. Death was instantaneous. The police have taken down our statements about what we saw and heard.

Around the time we reach home, Paolo 'Carlos' Ferretti passes through immigration and boards a London bound flight. 'Carlos' is not really his middle name. He has named himself after his ideal and role model, an assassin known as Ilich Ramirez Sanchez. Sanchez went by the name of 'Carlos the Jackal' and was the inspiration for Fredrick Forsyth's novel, 'The Day of the Jackal.'

From London, Carlos will catch a different flight to Rome. He has spent two weeks in India, visiting all tourists locations, The Taj Mahal in Agra, the forts at Jaipur, the frescos of Ajanta and the cave carvings of Ellora before catching his flight out of the country. In between all this, he has spent time checking out locations from which to prey on his quarry.

A few hours ago, he has reported a successful kill. He has no idea who in this country has requisitioned his services, only that his instructions have come from somewhere in the Tuscany region of Italy. He had been given the identity of his kill and the place to find him on a particular date and in a given time frame. So meticulous has been his planning, that even if the weapon he has used is found, it cannot be traced to anyone.

He checks his bank account on his phone. The promised sum has been deposited and there is an added bonus too. "The Don, whoever he may be, is a man of his word," he mutters smilingly to himself as he switches off his phone.

Conspiracy theories now start flying. A few of Datta's rival directors are suspects. 'Skeletons' in Datta's 'closet' begin to roll out. Many things are said, many things will continue to be said.

Chotu the sniper is picked up for questioning and has an iron-clad alibi. Under pressure, he reveals that he had been contracted by Datta to assassinate the businessman KK and that he had failed. There is no evidence of such an attempt at the claimed spot, a patch of wilderness in the hills.

He is charged with one case of 'murder' and one of 'attempt to murder.' Within three months the case is thrown out as the only 'credible' evidence is a confession statement obtained from him under duress. It is now believed that Datta was not the target, that the bullet was not for him. Chotu relocates with his family to Dubai and is now working as an electrician in a construction firm there.

The movie breaks many box office records. A good plot, a great suspense story, amazing acting by the lead actors and the rest of the cast and as the press calls it, 'A great director's swan-song.' Rave reviews ensure huge crowds at the theatres.

Almost a year later, it is glitz time again, time for the National Film Awards, the Oscar equivalent in Bollywood. Kanchan has two nominations for the 'Best Female Actor in a Lead Role.' One is for a film portraying a female ethical hacker who breaks into an all-woman terrorist network, only to find she is a target of various government agencies. The director of this film is the late Datta-Sahib. The other is for portraying a female athlete and a cross country runner, in a low budget film with a lesser-known director. There are 5 other contenders for the prize.

The result is a no brainer. I clap my hands and cheer with enthusiasm as a gorgeous and visibly pregnant Kanchan walks up the steps to the stage to receive her award. He acceptance speech is short and sweet.

"I thank my fans and my audience for their love, affection and adoration." She begins.

"I accept this award on behalf of a great director, who is now no more with us. We are unlikely to see another as talented as he.

To the cast and crew of this unit, I want you to know, this award is yours, I am just representing you here. To my companion, philosopher, guide and mentor, the actor par excellence, the one and only gorgeous Diva, Rekha, if not for you, I would still be a small-time girl from a small town searching for herself in the mirror.

And finally, I would not be standing here with the dignity I possess if not for my best friend, the love of my life, my rock, my Adonis, my husband and the father of my soon to be born baby. KK, I love you."

The audience bursts into cheers, I walk to the steps leading to the stage and take Kanchan's hand as she descends. I hold her protectively and lead her back to her seat between Rekha and me as Dr Meera Kumar on the other seat next to me smiles indulgently.

Rekha leans over, kisses Kanchan and whispers, "Welcome to my league, I only hope this tradition is carried forward in this family for generations to come." Little do we know then that she will see her words come true.

The award for best director is posthumously awarded to the great Datta-Sahib. We accord a standing ovation as the assistant director of the unit goes up to receive it.

The curtains have fallen for now. The story though, is not over.

Epilogue:

Don Tomasino is a happy and contented man. He is a hundred years old today. He walks short distances, otherwise, he moves around on a motorised wheelchair.

The love of his life is with him after half a century. She bends down to kiss him. "You are still the 29-year-old who left me standing teary-eyed at the airport." He says.

"Come on Don, I am 80 now. You forget the beautiful gift I gave you. He in turn has gifted us our grandchildren."

The cake is cut, there are resounding cheers as the family, extended family, relatives and friends celebrate. Wine flows, food is consumed in large quantities. There are speeches, fun and frolic

6 months later, the Don will be lowered into his grave. A life well-lived will be celebrated for generations to come.

6 years later, at the young age of 26, Maria Pia Kumar, popularly known as Pia, (which in the vernacular means 'Beloved') and named after her grandaunt as also the great Italian actor Maria Pia Casilio is the new rising star. With her sharp Italian facial features inherited from her father and grandfather and histrionic abilities inherited from her Indian mother and grandmother, she will be the first Indian to win an Oscar for the best female actor in a leading role.

Yet another 6 years later, her brother Dr Tejas Tomas Kumar, known as TT along with his colleague and aunt Dr Meera Kumar would be awarded the Nobel Prize in Medicine for developing techniques that substantially reduce the onset of Alzheimer's disease.

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