Nirvana Café, with its serene ambience just four kilometres from the Mukhteshwar temple, was the perfect place to set the stage for what I hoped would be a significant lunch. Arriving early, I chose a spot in the garden area by the road, where a large outdoor umbrella shielded me from the occasional drizzle and sun. The retreating monsoon clouds hung low, their grey mass shifting sluggishly across the sky, a prelude to what felt like an inevitable storm—both in the weather and in my mind.
I glanced at my watch, its hands ticking and inching to reach the designated hour. The thought of Smitakshi’s disapproving look, should I arrive late, was motivation enough to get to the café well ahead of time. Almost on cue, she appeared at the corner of the turn, a flash of blue against the multiple shades of greens of the hillside. Seeing her in that captivating top of a deep turquoise blue with a subtle purplish tinge made me skip a beat. It was my favourite colour, though I couldn’t recall mentioning it to her. Her choice of colour felt like an omen, a sign that this meeting was just a start.
Smitakshi moved with effortless grace, climbing the three stone steps that led to the café’s entrance. I noticed she was wearing sports shoes and realised she was well above the average height of women in India. She paused briefly at the café front, scanning the sky with a satisfied nod as if assuring herself that the sun would remain hidden behind the clouds and the day relaxed and pleasant; she turned right towards me. As she approached, I stood to greet her, her presence filling the space with an energy that was both calming and electrifying.
“Hello,” she said; her voice had a tingle that I found refreshing.
“Hello, Smitakshi,” I replied, smiling as I gestured for her to sit.
The Nirvana Café menu lay on the table, a mix of tourist favourites and authentic Uttarakhand dishes prepared with locally sourced herbs and spices. The café was more than just a place to eat; it was a hub for the community, complete with an adjoining organic shop that sold organic produce and cosmetics under the ‘Nirvana Organic’ and ‘Oak Tree Naturals’ brands. An enterprise close to the heart of Aditya Amar, the café’s owner and a former media heavyweight. Our friendship, forged over my many visits to Mukhteshwar, granted me the privilege of securing the best table in the house—one that offered a view of the road and the mountains beyond.
I had spoken to Aditya about Smitakshi, and he ensured we were serviced quietly and not disturbed much. I positioned myself with my back to the road, determined not to let anything distract me from the conversation. Nothing could distract me. Not even a remote chance of spotting Neena Gupta, one of my favourite Bollywood actresses whose bungalow was just a kilometre away and who Aditya confirmed had yesterday visited the café for a late evening coffee.
As we settled in, I reminded myself to listen more than speak and to ask open-ended questions to encourage her to share more about herself. I was genuinely interested in getting to know her better, but I couldn’t deny that this meeting was also a welcome distraction from the manuscript I had been struggling with—a romance murder mystery.
I ordered my favourite, the Nirvana Special Pizza, while she chose a more traditional spread—Paneer Pasanda, Aloo Gobi, and Tawa chapatis. As we waited for the food, I asked her what had brought her to Mukhteshwar. I thought it was time enough to probe such a personal question.
Smitakshi’s eyes lit up as she spoke of her passion for adventure. She was in the early stages of planning an adventure-based resort in Mukhteshwar that would offer trekking, rock climbing, paragliding, and more. She had already scoped out potential locations and was now quietly gathering more information before bringing in consultants to finalise the details. Her MBA, experience in the hospitality industry and being an adventure junkie have equipped her with the skills to turn this dream into reality. Her father, a successful precious gem and stone merchant in Jaipur, fully supported his only daughter’s idea. She thus had not to worry about the necessary funding.
Her enthusiasm was infectious as she spoke, and I found myself captivated by her vision. The writer in me couldn’t help but be intrigued by her boldness and the unexpected direction of her life plans—she did remind me of the character I was building in the next novel, and my observant eyes worked overtime to catch some nuance I could use later.
Lunch was a leisurely affair, punctuated by comfortable silences and shared smiles. Afterwards, we topped off the meal with hot cups of ginger tea, the warmth of the brew contrasting with the cool mountain air. Then, I revealed my profession more to gauge her reaction.
“I’m a writer,” I said, watching her expression closely. “You might have heard of me or read one of my books.”
Her brows furrowed slightly as she searched her memory, but she did not recognise me until I mentioned my pseudonym. The realisation dawned on her, and she broke into a delighted smile.
“You’re the author of “The Lilies Leftover of Lansdowne” she exclaimed, pulling a well-worn copy from her bag. “I love this book! Can we take a selfie?”
I obliged, feeling a twinge of guilt at the old trick I was playing. It wasn’t lost on me that I was using my literary fame to impress someone younger, someone whose energy and zest for life were both refreshing and daunting.
As we posed for the selfie, the trap was subtly set. I casually mentioned that I had a bottle of red wine and some local cheese back in my room, and we could continue our conversation there in the evening, where I could share insights into my next novel.
“Sounds great,” she said, with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I’d love to hear all about it.”
We left the café, stopping by the organic shop to pick up apricot chutney, plum jam, and honey. As we walked back to the resort, I noticed how she took her time, enjoying the sights and sounds of the hillside, her pace unhurried. It was as if she was savouring every moment, every detail.
The walk back took longer than expected, but I didn’t mind. It gave me time to think and prepare for what was shaping up to be an evening that would require careful handling. When we finally reached the resort, I suggested a nap to recharge before the evening. She agreed, and we parted ways, both aware that the game was about to begin. The board was set, and the first move – a simple opening – e5 was made.
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Here is Chapter 1 – Rainy evening in a resort at Mukhteshwar of the story with an undisclosed destination. Chapter -II. The beaches and whispering Mukhteshwar. and Chapter-III Mukhteshwar encounter. and Chapter IV- Shadows of a Dream.
It started as part of the @BlogChatter event #BlogChatterBlogHop where I started weaving a story based in the weekly word prompts suggested by them. After the 5th prompt- they took a break but the story continued to develop based on the prompts I got on my request on social media. I look forward to more work prompts for the next week. This week’s prompts were Lunch, Paneer, Blue, Umbrella, Mist, Move, Counter, Steps, Lion, Wait, Friends, and Club. I have been able to use 9 out of 12 to in this chapter.
