Son Sand Saga

Chapter 1

"Uh, you can go in," the skinny attendant said, meekly, addressing me. "Mem..."

I looked up from my phone.

"You can go in. Sir will see you now," he said, clearing his throat, brushing his salt and pepper hair from his forehead.

I got up, swinging my jhola over my shoulder. "About time," I muttered to myself, showing myself in to the poorly lit office.

A man was seated behind the cluttered desk. One hand held the receiver of a maroon-coloured phone, the other was stroking his chin.

"Ji," he huffed into the receiver. His eyes fell on me, and he pointed at the rickety chair in front of him.

"Hum aapse baad mein baat karte hain," he said, with finality before unceremoniously dropping the receiver with a loud thunk.

"Please sit, Miss...?" he started.

"Farber," I said shortly, sticking out a hand, "And you must be Mr. Shailendra Singh."

He got up to shake my hand, "Tea? You will have?"

"I'm good," I said, sitting down on the chair, and gathering the jhola on my lap.

He clucked, "But I insist. Tea here is very nice, Miss Farber."

"Oh, I know," I said, smiling faintly. Tea here was accompanied mostly by milk and copious amounts of  sugar. "I'll take a cup."

Mr. Singh rang a bell and the moth-eaten assistant poked his head in.

"Chai. Do," he said, holding up two fingers. "You will have biscuit, yes?"

"No, just the tea is fine, thank you, Mr. Singh." I said, quickly.

"Call me Shailen," he said, dismissing the assistant with a wave of his hand. "You have come a very long way, Miss Farber. Tell me. What can I do for you?"

Mr. Singh knitted his fingers together and leaned back in his chair. Even sitting I could make out that he was of but average height. Wavy hair, sleeked back, he peered at me through his mismatched coloured eyes, one dark brown, the other hazel.

I sighed "You are a very hard man to catch, Mr. Singh," I began.

(To be continued)