Page 14 of No Boss
He bowed when he saw her. “Meera Bai Sa.”
She inclined her head and stepped closer. Bent over the boards. Studied each shade against the wall. “Govind Dada. You matched the wash?”
“Yes.” He gestured to the boards. “But natural pigment will take time to set. Chemical paint finishes faster. Costs less.”
Meera straightened. Her hand rose to the wall beside her. She traced a broken curve of floral work where years had eaten into plaster. She felt each layer, each remnant that refused to disappear.
“Chemical paint sits on the top,” she murmured. “It does not breathe with the plaster. It cracks. It peels.” Her fingers pressed against the surface. “The original held for years.”
He gave a small nod. He had known. He just needed her to say it.
“How long with the old method, Govind Dada?”
“Six weeks. Eight if the weather turns.”
“And if we push it?”
He didn’t hesitate. “It will look new. Not real.”
“Then we don’t push.” Her voice carried no room for argument. “Same materials. Same process. Same layering.” Her gaze lifted to him. “If the cost rises, it rises.”
He paused this time. “It will rise a lot.”
“Let it.” The words stayed quiet, yet firm enough to settle the matter. “No false paint on this Haveli. Not while I stand in it.”
The old man smiled into his beard. “The Haveli chose the right girl.”
Meera looked up. At the painted figures above. Chipped at the edges. Faded in places. Still standing. Still themselves.
“The Haveli raised me,” she murmured. “I owe it more than repair.”
Further along the walkway, Rajan stood with a coil of wire over his shoulder, speaking to another worker. “Meera Didi is the real heart of this Haveli.”
She heard it. Turned. A single look sent him back to work. He ran, half-afraid, half-grinning. She shook her head, smiling, and returned to the plans.
By midday, the bells had fallen silent. Sunlight pressed into the courtyards, harsh enough to drive even the peacocks into shadow.
Rajan approached again. “Babuji is calling you.”
Meera frowned. Her father never called for her like this. Not in the middle of the day. Not without reason that could not wait.
She walked to the office without hurrying.
Devendra’s office was small. Account books lined one wall in neat stacks. Old maps rested in a brass stand near the window.
When Meera pushed the door open, her mother Gauri was already inside. She sat beside the desk, hands clasped in her lap. No movement. No adjusting. None of the small habits that usually filled her time.
She sat as if held in place by what she had heard.
Meera closed the door. “What happened?”
Devendra did not answer at once. His face carried a heaviness that had not been there at breakfast. He removed his glasses, wiped them with the edge of his kurta, and put them back on.
“Thakurain Sa called.”
Meera’s chest tightened. “Is she all right?”
“She’s fine.”
