Custody Read Free

he was a marketing genius? Had he managed to produce results so far? Where was his wife? How come he wasn’t married? Raman was pleasantly surprised, her interest in company matters was usually limited.
    That night Shagun was very tender to her husband, her body apologising for the sullenness of the day before. In a happier frame of mind Raman left the next morning to enthuse regional marketing managers, to do unto others what had been done unto him.
    A week later he was accosted by Ashok in the office. Would his wife be interested in acting in an ad? They needed a housewife to put a Mang-oh! Tetra Pak in a child’s tiffin, he had thought she would be suitable, but there was no compulsion, the agency could always provide some model.
    Raman hadn’t realised such a project was in the offing, but he was sure it would gratify his wife to act.
    He thought of this opportunity as a gift, knowing the excitement it would provide. When he first knew Shagun she had wanted to be a model, but her mother was strongly opposed to a career that would allow all kinds of lechery near her lovely daughter. ‘Do what you like after you marry,’ she had said, but after marriage there had been a child. Then the claims of husband, family and friends made a career hard to justify, especially since money was not an issue.
    *
    The screen test was promising and Shagun was chosen to appear as a mother in a thirty-second film. When they wanted a child, she suggested her son, and he too was taken. In one week, the exhilaration was over, but not over was the intensity of Ashok’s gaze as he dropped in on the studio to see how it was going.
    She put the visit down to the perfectionism she had heard so much about, but when he asked her to coffee, her pleasure was mixed with fear.
    Had he been a home-grown Indian and not the boss, she would have found a way to refuse, but this man had been imported from abroad and she did not want to seem unsophisticated. So she went for coffee, and in the spirit of sophistication, dispassionately revelled in the admiration emanating from him, knowing she was still in a role, and it was nice to play away from home.
    He encouraged her to talk. Once, she said, she had got modelling offers that might have led to screen tests, but then she had married very young and there had been the inevitable children. Now she was too old to start in films, but with so many new TV channels, and with countless soaps on offer she might have a chance once this ad was released?
    Yes, an ad might open up opportunities. He was acquainted with someone who worked with Asha Kakkar, queen producer of practically every sob-inducing serial; would she like him to make a few enquiries? If she gave him her phone number he could get in touch with her directly should something materialise. Nervously she wrote her number down, then watched him insert the chit carefully into his wallet. He would do his best, but she was not to be disappointed if nothing came up.
    Of course not, that was understood, she murmured.
    He grinned dazzlingly at her. If anyone deserved to be in films it was the woman sitting before him, he said.
    A week later found her in his house, after he had phoned about needing advice on furnishings.
    Did you manage to get any information about the TV series? she asked as he opened the door, visions of the casting couch flooding her mind. Ashok Khanna didn’t seem that type of man, but you never knew.
    I have asked my friends, they will get back to me. But I must tell you, it will be necessary to relocate to Bombay if you are serious. It’s unfeasible to think of an acting career from Delhi.
    In that case, asked Shagun, was it not possible for Raman to be posted there?
    He did not answer, and she wondered whether her question was too unprofessional to merit attention. She looked at him anxiously, he looked back unsmiling, she lowered her eyes and asked about the furnishings.
    He showed her some nondescript beige drapes, did she think he should