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She willed herself to not check her phone to see if he had replied. It had been about three days now. She hated that she was constantly checking his 'last seen at' status and yes, he had logged in just five minutes ago. Yet she couldn't stop herself. This sinking feeling to find absolutely no communication from him was becoming unbearable, almost torturous.And then, just as she sat down in her chair, her phone vibrated. With her heart thudding in her ear, she unlocked her phone and stared at the screen. Finally! It was his message.
But when she opened it and read it, she nearly stopped breathing. She didn't know if he was joking or not. What was this?
MEERA
She rechecked the message to see if it was “Meher”. It was not.
“How can it be Meera?” She thought. “She cannot even speak proper English!!”
But what was worse, she actually liked Meera. She felt an old pain she had been trying to wash away from some time. It was not nice to have this pain again. Not now.
NO! It cannot be now.
She sighed. “Ambition is such a…bitch!” She dialed a number she wished she never had to.
The caller tune kept on ringing till it died off.
She dialed again, but knew that, even this time, it would not be picked. She waited for a few minutes before the third call. She knew the drill. She remembered the process. An ex-boyfriend, a small time criminal, in jail now for having ties with the underworld, told her that five years ago; just in case she ever needed some ‘help’.
She re-dialed with her hands shaking. She knew it would be picked now, but there would be no helloes.
The line went active on the first ring.
“Hi, this is Jessica…” She started.
“No names.” Interrupted the voice, emotionless; almost ruthless.
“I am a…”
“I know who you are. WhatsApp the photo on the other number with the emoticon.”
Jessica hung up.
What the heck are you doing, Jessica?
It was the forgotten voice inside her suddenly re-surfacing after many years. She hated it. It made her weak. She craved for a cigarette, to light it up and inhale deeply; letting the smoke fumigate the weakness out.
“Shut up. Not now. Not when I am this close.”
She tapped the Photo app on her iPhone and selected a photograph of Meera. Her thumb scrolled through the album marked Contestants.
It had the photographs of all the girls she had clicked on the first day of “Diva India 2015”. Day One. The first day, she knew, all the girls would be at their most vulnerable and trusting. As the competition would grow fiercer, the armor would become more impenetrable. Every action would be looked with critical eye. Just going around asking for photographs and numbers would get a lot of undue attention. On the first day, it would all be put down as an attempt to network and become familiar. That was expected.
The first day was always the best for the photographs, although she never had to use them…until today.
She slid through the photographs and only three of them were relevant today: Meher, Meera and a Selfie with the “Diva India 2015” neon sign behind her.
The rest had gradually disappeared during the course of a month. Jessica also made sure she clicked a selfie with all of them when they left. This photograph would then go to an album: The Fallen Angels.
These selfies were always the most fun to take.
Jessica would go to the contestant who was voted out, and would catch them in front of the camera. The she would give them a fake hug and a kiss. The girl had no choice but to behave graciously in front of the camera.
Most of them called her names when they hugged.
All of them would cringe when Jessica would kiss then. She would then suggestively brush her breast on their arms, gently feel their buttocks and would ask them to “call her”.
Click.
Jessica had figured out that, this ensured most of the girls would have no misconceptions of Jessica as someone they could call for help later on in their lives.
She hated people who called for help.
But some of them did call her, but not for career advice. Jessica liked those calls.
“Ambition is a bitch,” She smirked. “…so am I.”
*******
Beauty contests are not only to judge beauty, glamour or poise; they are business events. Events, which would decide the spending habits of the masses and consequently, the marketing strategies of the biggest companies in the world
The girl who could reach out to most number of people, would be the favorite. And even better, if that girl could sell that “one hell of a dream” she was the most probable winner. People always paid a more for a dream than a product.
And Meera had that edge over the others.
She was not a big-city model like Jessica. Nor was she a Mayo College alumni like Meher from some antiquated royal family.
Meera was an underdog. She came from a small town in Madhya Pradesh. She was not a convent educated girl, nor was she from an affluent family.
She had not gone to school with fancy names and fancier uniforms. She had attended Baba Bhimeswara Public School and had worn salwar-kameez till college; with ribbons and plaited hair.
She lived in a railway quarter where her father was a government servant. She was driven around town by her brother in a Bajaj Pulsar. Their family car was a Hyundai i10, which they had bought after her father sold some ancestral land in their village.
And yet, if she could become the most glamourous celebrity in India for a year, then why not a Pooja from Raipur, a Reema from Imphal, a Lakshmi from Madurai or a Firdous from Nasik?
All of them would become accessible through Meera. Each would be sold the dream of hope and possibility through beauty products, coaching centers, clothes, shoes, and expensive beauty salons. Not to mention the brand endorsements for the growing real-estate market in the tier-2 cities of India.
Meera represented the face and aspirations of millions of Indian girls. And that, was her market reach. If she would become Miss Diva India 2015, the cheer would come from the heart of an untapped market on the verge of a boom.
Meher and Jessica never had that market reach.
*******
That feeler was Markand - Senior Data Analyst.
Markand was her tentacle in the decision room and his job was to analyze the nation-wide votes and make market predictions based on them. He called himself a data scientist and his specialty was that, he could come up with a dollar-figure in expected sales if a certain girl would win.
This figure was very important for those who decided.
As the number of contestants grew smaller, the voting responses become more stable, and then Markand’s analysis became more accurate and consistent. He was not an important cog in the wheel, but the result of his analysis was.
Jessica had understood the role of a data analysts long before “Diva India” had asked for the girls to apply for the contest. So she started sending friend requests to anyone who had anything to do with data analysis and had models or event managers in their friend-lists. She wanted to be in touch with the one who would finally be doing the data-analysis for “Diva India 2015”
She had zeroed in on a few people who seemed to have the best chance of being part of the contest. The day a contact, Markand, updated the status - Diva India 2015 … here I come - Jessica had asked him out for dinner. Later that week, she allowed him to seduce her. They had been going around since then. She even allowed Markand to “force” her to audition.
For a data scientist, Markand was a walk in the park.
They had kept their relationship a secret but within the confines of secrecy, Markand had become increasingly infatuated with Jessica. There was also the high of dating a model.
Jessica made sure he was satisfied enough to remain loyal to her, at least till the finals. One afternoon when Markand mentioned marriage to her after some vigorous love-making, she knew she had him where she wanted. She had smiled and had given him some more reasons to remain there. And today Markand had made himself useful by sharing the data analysis with Jessica even before the judges.
He knew that it was a strict violation of the rules and his career was at stake, but Jessica’s addiction was not an easy thing to let go off.
For the past few days he had been busy with the analysis and wanted to win her over with some good news, but in whichever way he sliced and diced the data, it always gave a clear name: Meera. The margin of victory was too big to hide under some cleaver data tweaking. He knew sending this message could mean disastrous to his relationship, but he felt that if he told the truth maybe he had a chance. Arriving at this decision did not take time, but getting himself to type the message took three days of heart-wrenching dilemma. Finally today he typed the name, sent the message to Jessica and headed off to the nearest bar.
*******
She clicked on the share button after selecting Meera’s photograph and the Whatsapp window opened. She tapped the contact on Whatsapp and sent the photograph.
Now the emoticon.
She chose the fist and then the skull.
Jessica smiled. The whole thing felt so weird. And scary as hell. She felt the shudder down her spine. She knew this was really the only thing left to do now: hammer the last nail on the coffin of her dreams.
The picture was already sent, and then the emoticons. She tapped a few more times and pressed the “Send” button. The Whatsapp message was delivered successfully to the contact.
It read:
“I feel it would be you, Meeru…right from the time I took this picture. I hate you...but with all my love, Jessica”
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