“Ram Lal!” yelled a man waking up in the dead of the night, sweat trickling down his fat cheeks. There he sat on his bed wide-eyed as if he had seen the worst of the nightmares. It was 3:45 am in the clock. He felt his throat choking. He reached out for the water in the jug on the table adjacent to his bed and poured it in the glass but it could barely fill the glass. So he got out of the bed and walked lazily towards the kitchen. There was dead silence in the house as even the ticking of the clock could be heard prominently. Suddenly he felt his phone in his pocket and could not resist calling up someone.
“Nishant, it happened again tonight. Same cell and the same man,” he said.
“It’s four in the morning and it’s been 20 years since that incident Ishaan. What’s wrong?” asked Nishant in a drowsy voice on the phone.
“Nothing is wrong. It’s just that I had that dream again,” said Ishaan. “But it’s okay, never mind. You should go back to sleep, and so should I”.
“Yes, we probably should,” answered Nishant.
Ishaan just flung the phone on the table and trotted back to his bedroom with the filled jug.
A few Kilometers away...
“Anuja! Anuja! Where is the breakfast!? We have a client meeting in the next 30 minutes,” yelled a man in formals, walking hastily towards the kitchen.
“Coming Abhimanyu! Give me five minutes,” said Anuja trying to fit in her earrings.
“And the breakfast is in the pan, and please fill the tiffin. Rama tai hasn’t come in for work today. It’s her nephew’s baby shower. So self-service today!” yelled back Anuja.
“I don’t know what this ruckus is all about. It’s like I am the parent in the house,” sighed a teenage girl serving herself.
“Yeah, sure, Akansha. Thanks for the taunt, though,” said Abhimanyu filling the tiffin with the scrambled eggs. “And don’t you have school today? Why on earth are you still in your pyjamas?”
“Dad, today I have taken an official sick leave, and I have already discussed the details with mom, so ciao,” said Akansha leaving the kitchen and a surprised Abhimanyu behind.
“Okay, correct hain,” said Abhimanyu.
“I am ready now, Abhimanyu let’s go! We are getting late,” said Anuja hurriedly.
“Yeah, let’s go,” Abhimanyu said, closing a half-filled tiffin.
“And don’t forget to take today’s newspaper, Abhimanyu!” yelled Anuja as she left for the car.
Abhimanyu ran to the small table in the living room and picked up two newspapers dated 20th September 2020. He then ran to the door juggling the tiffin and the newspapers in both his hands. As he opened it, he stepped on an envelope. He bent and picked up that envelope pressing the newspapers under his arm.
“A letter, huh? Why would someone send a letter nowadays?” thought Abhimanyu.
A shrill horn from the driveway disrupted his thought . “Chalo jaldi” shouted Anuja.
Abhimanyu put the letter in his jacket and jogged to the car.
A constant pit-pat on the roof of a store, caused by the heavy droplets of rain pouring heavily over the city of Delhi. There was the usual heavy traffic at the Chandni Chowk circle. A woman was running on the footpath, covering her head with a heavy file as if it would save her from the Delhi rains. She splashed water all along as she sprinted in her sport shoes, half drenched in water. Her badge was swinging to and fro as she ran swiftly, her tall legs aiding her.
“Good afternoon, ma’am!” greeted the receptionist as the woman made her way through the entrance ignoring the receptionist. She started walking briskly through the lobby as a short man accompanied her.
“Sinha ka mood aaj achhaa hai. But Vibha, if you are going to arrive this late, then thats not going help the cause,” said Prashant, sounding concerned.
“Okay, Prashant. I am here, right? So let me take it from here. You wish me luck,” said Vibha as she left Prashant with a friendly wink.
She jogged and reached a door. She stopped at the door momentarily and murmured something to herself, and then pushed the door open.
“Oh! Here you are,” exclaimed Mr. Sinha.
“Sometimes, it feels as if we are taking your appointment and not vice versa.” “Okay, never mind, sit down,” added Mr. Sinha with a peal of sarcastic laughter.
“It’s just that I am not used to the untimely Delhi rains….
“Okay, so I was going through your file,” said Mr. Sinha interrupting Vibha. “We have indeed gotten excellent reviews from our clients lately.”
Vibha’s face cracked into a broad smile listening to this, but to her dismay it did not last long.
“You know that you are a marriage councillor, right? You are supposed to rekindle a dying marriage and not pitch both the spouses against each other!” exclaimed Mr. Sinha sternly.
Suddenly Vibha remembered the couple she had counselled last week, what had started as a small argument, which is expected between the couple in a counselling session, but eventually turned into an ugly fight as the couple hurled abuses and yelled at the top of their voices.
Vibha was jolted back to reality as Mr. Sinha snapped his fingers, leaning forward. “But sir, there were too many differences, and they needed to have that real heated face-off…
“We at “Rekindle” help couples patch up and not ignite their pre-existing differences,” shouted Mr. Sinha.
“Please get your act together and remember that, clients pay us for finding common ground and not tearing apart the remaining one. And you may leave now,” said Mr. Sinha. He was a man of few words. So he went and sat on his chair and started
