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STORY so far: A company man is in the custody of a foreign government, and hectic efforts are on to secure his release. I pitch in my part and see if my presence can help out there. Before I sleep in the late night flight to Jakarta, there is a story to hear — that of my old friend whose marriage collapsed like a house of cards.

Episode 20

Vaishu's experiences, I could perceive, were not infrequent among many Indian women. Very little research goes into marriage preparations and we often find people getting into wedlock without even knowing much about the other person, though the very same people would buy cosmetics and clothing after considerable exploration.

While some would justify a gut-feel approach to tying the nuptial knot, though they would spend hours before a spreadsheet template, fine-tuning the formulae and workings, it is ridiculous to assume that one can adjust to another's value system just like that, after hurriedly going through the routine of chantings in a smoky hall, with hundreds in attendance more for the eats than to bless the couple in an arduous journey.

"We would have known about that man," Vaishu said, "if only we had enquired at his previous address."

"May be the time was short," I suggested, "what with a phoren groom coming to India on whistle-stop tour. Have you got divorced?"

"It is WIP," she said, using a piece of jargon that our costing lecturer was always fond of deploying to refer to any unfinished job. "I don't think I would miss the man, who I found was but a cheap cheat. What I miss is all the time that passed by me, even as I suffered from the trauma of the misfortune."

"There is still lots of life ahead," I assured her. And she spoke of her plans to start a business unit with operations in India and Indonesia, now that she knew both the places. Good, I thought, she was not running away from that country just because of the baggage of bad experiences there.

Soon, flight attendants were clearing the trays of eats and leftovers, distributing woollens, attending to nagging passengers, and chairs were reclining. A few hours sleep, I told myself, because tomorrow would be a busy day, and watched the black sky outside the window.

At the same time, an important meeting was in progress, not in the conference hall of the company where Swati worked, but in a shady restaurant that lay near the 45th milestone on NH 5. Its main customers were truck drivers who needed to recharge their batteries, and so the loud music there subdued much of other conversation. Around a table were Govind, the secretary, Tarun, his brother-in-law and partner in crime, plus the chief guest of the evening, Sooty Jackal.

Govind: "When did you come from Imphal?"Sooty: "2 hours ago."

Tarun: "We have been waiting for you for ages. When will you start the job?"

Sooty: "I have a business policy to adhere to."

Govind: "You too.."

Sooty: "First, I need to know why you guys are after the company. The purpose has to be genuine and grand, because we don't want to work for chota stakes."

Tarun: "We?"

Govind: "You dumb, Jackal is part of a big network that has its own rules and regulations, plus, if I am right, code of ethics too."

Sooty: "That's right, Govind. For us goons, it makes little difference if ownership is in the hands of A or B. Today, you are the employees, and tomorrow you want to become the boss. We would be interested in the project only if we see it is of strategic importance to our line of activity."

Govind: "How, Sootyji?"

Sooty: "Let me be honest. We move arms from one place to another. And drugs, plus laundered money from one side and dirty money to the other. We have to fit your company in our process, because we are going to be having a long-term relationship."

Tarun: "You are not discussing price."

Sooty: "Hey, bachcha! We don't discuss our terms, we name them."

(To be continued)

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