It was around six in the evening when I left for Agra, the drive was long so I decided to have a brief of a few files. I know it's not a good habit but I have to save my time. If tomorrow is supposed to be a complete day off, I better complete my work today. It was 10:15 when I reached Dhairya's home, the old haveli that uncle Nirvaan had bought as his birthday gift and where the seven of us, specifically us two, have a number of memories. The place still smells of sandstone and mogra flowers.
"So, how's everything Mr. Minister?"
"Mat pooch yaar. I am living on just two things these days- sports and nightmares. The last two months went by in just educational policies and their budget. State Government educational loans par focus hi nahi kar rahi. College students to phir bhi kama lete hain, but it's the school students I more concerned about."
(Don't ask buddy... The government isn't focusing on educational loans. Though college students are able to earn anyhow,,,)
"Phir, any solutions to this?" (then)
"Hmm. It's quarterly meeting of education ministers in Delhi next week, will talk about it there."
"And you are still horrified?"
"No I'm not, not of the meeting, but of the one who would be present there. Madam Raghavan."
But I laugh. "Don't tell me, you are afraid of a woman in power?"
"Haan haan, has. Tum to tehere ek CFO, businessman, par bahi mai? Mai to ek mantri hoon, hum jaiso ko vo chai ke saath khaati hai. Mujhe to face karna hoga na the MAHAKSHI RAGHAVAN ko."
(Oh yeah, laugh. You are a CFO, but I? I am a minister, she eats people like us with her tea. I would have to face the MAHAKSHI RAGHAVAN.)
The Principal Secretary of the PM, the woman was a walking nuclear code. Though I have not met her, news and ofcourse my dad, have kept me updated.
The Next Morning
I woke up quite late than usual but was fast enough to be ready at 8. We left for CSRU at 8:10, the drive wasn't long and the first step there filled me with a sudden nostalgia. "Remember it Shivaay, this is not a university, it's the legacy your grandmother made me achieve."
CSR, the university was established by my grandfather, Miheer Singh Rathore in 1995, on their 25th anniversary. Indo-Saracenic architecture, my grandmother's favourite.
Today it looked more beautiful, adorned with ribbons and banners. A loud echo of applauds welcomed us inside the auditorium.
"Ladies and Gentleman", the anchor began, "We welcome you here to celebrate the 100th anniversary of World Journalism Day, a day that celebrates world's most feared power, truth and its true seekers, the journalists. Commencing the ceremony, I invite Hanitra, our final year student for her inaugural speech."
Hanitra, unique.
Today was a special day, so I wore my most loved two piece suit- A pair of black blazer and pants paired with a white shirt that had black buttons. For hair, I chose the classic side parted hairstyle. Wearing my pointed heels that were reserved for special occasions, I began to leave, now in a hurry.
"All the best Tara"
"Thank you baba" I said loudly, as I had already left the house.
"Achcha karna laado" Panditji's voice reached my ears as I stepped out of the temple, after offering my prayers.
(Do well child)
"...I invite Hanitra for her speech."
This is the moment. Go ahead Tara, you can do it.
Nine steps and I occupied the podium, now a center of everyone's attention. I took a silent deep breath and began.
"The way to right the wrongs of the world is to turn the light of truth upon them, for journalism is not a profession nor a trade, but a crusade of truth, of the bitter reality that stays hidden behind the sweet honeycomb of lies.
Warm greeting to the audience present here. On this occasion, I stand in front of you to present my views and the true essence of Journalism-The way to Truth."
The auditorium was packed—students, professors, reporters, and a scattering of politicians dressed in stiff smiles. At the center of it all, standing at the podium in a crisp black blazer and a gaze made of steel, was her.
Hanitra, the girl not only has a unique name but also a unique confidence that she carries with herself. The topic she chose directly questions the misuse of power by the governments to control the press, hiding or misinterpreting the truth. The girl surely has some strength to speak with such venom, coated with sugar in the presence of her education minister and other officials. Surely destined to be a journalist.
There was a shift in the room as her speech continued. Eyes darted to the front row, where Dhairya Rajawat, their Education Minister himself, sat in a crisp navy suit, listening with an unreadable expression. Most would've swallowed their words under his gaze.
Not Hanitra. She didn't flinch, didn't pause, didn't let her words sugarcoat the truth. She talked about the corruption in the media houses, the subtle threats journalists received, and the masked hypocrisy of those in power.
"If power is allergic to truth, then maybe it's power that needs correcting, not truth that needs softening."
"Thank you." I clapped, an echo in such loud cluster of hands. My gaze followed her movements, hands joined together, probably thanking her god; then placing one on her chest, as if taking a long breath. A small smile forms on my lips, admiring the soul in front of me, that tries to cover her fears with her confidence.
"Rabba main to marr gaya oye," This idiot. I glared at him, the minister having a sheepish grin..
(Lyrics- god I died, more like by you.)
"What? "Aisi speeches toh filmon mein bhi nahi milti. Kya baat hai, Shivaay. Pehli nazar ka asar lag raha hai? I'm giving you a background music. 'Aankhon mein teri... ajab si ajab si adaayein hain...' "
(What? You don't get such speeches even in Bollywood movies. It feels the effect of first sight.)
"I'll kill you Dhairya Rajawat, and your state will get a holiday for sure."
"Bloody serious human. However, I don't blame you, Hanitra is really good."
"You know her?" Stupid Shivaay, stop. Why are you even asking?
"Hmm. Awarded her for atleast eight times in the past one and a half year. Girl's got a backbone made of steel. Doesn't flinch. Doesn't flatter. The young lady has an unmatched potential."
"And an equally dangerous one. Kisi din isse bada fasa na de." (Hope she doesn't land in big trouble one day.)
Hey! Your author here.
These were the initial chapters where the fate introduces the two stars of the story it's weaving, when one of the two first acknowledges the other's existence. What he doesn't know is that their connection is far beyond his mere impression on her. The coming chapters embark the beginning of their tale, a piece of the fate's fictions where they will face each other on every point of their life.
Hurdles will come, every emotion that is known to the human existence will wreck its fury. But in the end, will they stand together? In the journey itself, will they be the strength that these two will count upon?
Will the most alluring flower, the emotion of love, sustain between them, if it ever dares to bloom??
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