A mystery behind mystery

“Like who does that?” Said a lady wearing a very expensive mauve silk saree and a pashmeena shawl on top of it, a sober necklace matching her saree, to her friend with similar attire. “What happened Rama?” asked Rama’s friend.

“It’s Mr. Bagui, whose wife’s funeral get together we have come to. He at first took a spoon full of sugar for his tea and then just poured half of it into his cup, then again he took a spoon full and again poured just half. Why not just empty the first spoon?” Stated Rama suspiciously. “I didn’t want to come on the first place you forced me to accompany you, I don’t even know these people but from the huge bungalow and the expensive taste of interior I assume they are pretty rich, at least more than us. The old man just lost his wife let him be!” Said the friend irritably.

“Ahh! You are just not interested because you don’t know these people Sheena. You see that man in blue shirt, that fair one ith a slight beard that’s probably because he didn’t shave after his mother’s demise but usually he is a man who likes to have a clean shave and that suits him too. He is Vikram Bagui, only son of Dhiman Bagui, husband of Maya Bagui, a busy man of 35, a bit serious but loves to spend time with his daughter. He has always been that way a ‘mamma’s boy’ and had a bad relationship with his father.”
“And that Girl with short hair, who is talking to that baby girl. Who is she?” inquired Sheena while taking a sip from her tea.

“That’s Maya Bagui, some women in our Kitty Group say that she is Vikram’s second wife and like you usually see in the hindi soap operas, she was in fact his Secretary. But she has been a good mother to Nishi. You see Nishi was just 1 year old when her real mother, Disha died in an accident. And two years back just after Disha’s death Mr. Bagui’s wife Astha experienced an episode of heart attack and was in coma for two years before Vikram and his now wife Maya decided to end her misery. Maya too is a very quiet person in general but she socializes pretty well with us in the parties” explained Rama with great enthusiasm. “Oh I see, and like you have already told me that old strange man in house coat is Dhiman Bagui the man of the house. He seems too well groomed for this occasion.” Said Sheena with a very observant look.

Just then Maya came to them “The dinner is served in the garden area, please come with me. Thank you for coming it meant a lot to me and my family.” She said very gently with a faint feeling of sadness in it. The two ladies paused their gossip and followed Maya to the Garden. The entire bungalow stood vividly on than Green ground in the middle of Salt Lake Area, it seemed something great even for a posh area like that. From the garden one gets to admire the long rows of windows beautifully framed with carved woods and stained glass. The balcony in the first floor had plants complimenting the greenery in the garden. The pillars holding the balcony was also decorated with carves sculptures which continued till the end of the garden. The garden was an art itself with beautiful flowers and plants we don’t usually get to see in Kolkata. Tables were arranged in a scattered manner and food was being served in the best way possible. The Bagui’s are indeed the richest family in Saltlake if no in Kolkata.

Everyone are having their food, the two gossip queens were also busy relishing the red wine. Nishi was being the naught year old she is and ran inside, Maya had to follow her. Vikram was too aloof from the main gathering and was talking to someone over phone and watching over the people from the balcony. The old man never actually came out or talked to anyone who had come to attend the funeral. The elites don’t actually care and everything to them is just another information to gossip about. Rama and Sheena will definitely complain to her other friends about how bas of a host Maya was, they are discussing that while enjoying the sweet dish. Suddenly a very shrill voice came from the big white master piece, the bungalow. A Scream, yes the elites still don’t care but this was not just an information but a big exclusive news and no elite, no middle class or no poor can leave the chance of having such news. There was blood on the white marbled corridor and a dead body.

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Shreyasha Banerjee

I hardly can write, sentences that don't rhyme. As words construct my soul, poetry being it's hymn.

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