The Tycoon's Daughter

here were numerous receptions held to celebrate our victory. The school and college kids who came to the functions, and their parents, surrounded me with autograph books. Robot-like, I kept signing my name on books, hockey sticks, currency notes, and whatever was thrust towards me.

"Will you write something for me in Urdu, please?" said someone behind me. I turned to face a teenage girl dressed in jeans and a polka-dotted red top. A pigtail hung on either side of her shoulders.

I felt I had seen her before. Was it Teheran or Singapore, Munich or India, during one of the many flights of Indian Airlines, I couldn't recollect.

"Muslim?" I asked, steering her towards the table piled with refreshments.

"My name is Carol Saad. My mother is a Protestant from France, my father is a Muslim from India," she replied, piling my plate with refreshments. "I am half-Muslim and half-Christian, half-Asian and half-European. Incomplete, you might say," she added, and laughed.

Her laughter had a tinge of bitterness, which led me to ask her if she faced any problems in being accepted.

"Shit no," she replied. "Everybody accepts me for my father's status, my mother's money, and my gender."

"I wish we were at the hotel instead," I said. "One cannot even hear what is being said in this crowd."

"Come, let's go," she said, putting her arm around my waist. We drove back to the hotel in her car, a green convertible Sunbeam Talbot. We had coffee in our room. She curled up on the carpet, totally unafraid of being alone with me in the room, a man she had met only an hour or two ago.

I asked her if she would show me around Kuala Lumpur, saying that I had only seen the Merdeka Stadium and the hotel. She said she will pick me up at ten the next morning, and we parted ways.

I spent a restless night wondering whether she would come the next morning. The following day, I got ready at nine itself, waiting for her.

We went around Kuala Lumpur, with Carol pointing out the landmarks. I sat silently by her side, totally disinterested in the sights.

When we stopped for hamburgers and milk at a wayside kiosk, she asked, "What is the matter with you? You can deceive me, but don't cheat yourself. What is it?"

"I love you," I blurted, and looked out of the window, my face flushed, and hoping that she would reciprocate my sentiments.

"Oh just that," she laughed, hurting me. She could have said the she didn't love me. It would have hurt, but less than this ridicule, this indifference, this laughter.

"I'm sorry if I have hurt you," she said, touching my shoulder. "I could hardly believe you were serious. We don't even know each other as yet. But if you really mean it, I'd like you to come home and meet the family."

With Manoj Kumar, Navin Nischal, Vinod Khanna and Raj Kapoor