Free The Nidhi Kapoor Story by Saurabh Garg Page A

know?” Prakash asked, apparently indifferent to Rujuta’s excitement.
    “Because she is back to work less than 24 hours after her favorite pets were butchered. She is either a strict professional where her work commitment comes above all. Or she is very very stupid. Also, if you want, you can you go ask her some more questions. And if not even that, I am partying close by. You definitely need to loosen up in life. You must meet my friends. They are a fun bunch,” Rujuta again spit everything out in one breath.
    “I am not interested in any of those things. Thank you for the tip though.” And just like that, Prakash disconnected.
    Rujuta threw up her arms in exasperation. She muttered under her breath, “Prakash Mohile, I am going to get you. Soon.”
    She decided to stake out at the newly opened Starbucks at Juhu to mull over the Nidhi Kapoor incident. Although it was about a kilometre away, she decided to walk. Walking helped her clear her head. She missed her stint as a criminal photographer when she would’ve even slept with the ugliest editor to get to work on a scoop like that. Every scoop was like an endorphin rush and was followed by cheers and acknowledgment from the entire team. Every scoop could literally catapult you into the big leagueof journalists where you were paid to make appearances and invited to talk to gullible students. Now she worked on features and photo-essays and each essay required weeks, even months of investigation, interviews, photographs and editing. However, in the pecking order, the photojournalists were many notches above the regular beat reporters and Rujuta could not complain. Especially when at her age, twenty-six, most of her peers were still scampering around to find the next scoop that would cement their jobs in the hyper-competitive industry.
    She ordered her favorite, a double espresso, plugged her earphones and started doodling on her Moleskin. She listed everyone she met at Ronak and soon she was lost in her journal. Music helped her escape to a different planet. A place where she could focus and think about problems at hand. It helped her go far from the chaotic life that she lived. Her choice of music was just like her. Combinations of two extremes. Old Hindi Bollywood music and the modern electronic dance mixes. Right now she was listening to Kishore Kumar. She liked working to soothing medleys of Kishore, Rafi and Mukesh. And when she was agitated, nervous, excited, she wanted the likes of Black Eyed Peas and Parov Stelar to help her cope.
    When she really wanted to let some steam out of her system, she would play music loud, let her hair loose and groove to the beats. She would dance till she was exhausted, till her muscles ached, till she was drenched with her sweat. She would then lie down naked on the cold floor to let her body dry and let the sweat evaporate. She loved the tingling sensation of sweat separating from her body and seeping into the cold floor beneath. To her, philosophically, it washer escape from the mortal world into a metaphysical one. And when she got numb from the hard cold floor beneath her, she would step into the shower, alternating between very hot and very cold water to soothe her muscles. She’d been doing this for almost two years now. She discovered the shower bit accidentally when after a house party, after all guests had departed, she found herself horribly naked, horribly drunk and horribly out of her mind. She was dancing alone with Felix, her cat, till she collapsed on the floor out of exhaustion. She then somehow dragged herself to the shower. She did not know why she got in the shower but when she turned on the faucet, she could literally see all her fatigue, pain, anger, frustration, hangover, headache, and guilt running down with water. All of it.
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    It was almost ten in the night and Prakash was just changing into his shorts when his phone rang. It was Rujuta. Prakash ignored it at first but when it rang the second time