It was 10 PM in the meeting room, where I found myself witnessing a scene that was both shocking and intriguing. The room was filled with a tense atmosphere, as four rich investors - Khan brothers, waited anxiously for the founder of the startup to make her pitch. The door opened, and in walked my 44 years old mother, Sonali Chauhan, with confidence.
My mother's presence immediately commanded attention. She moved with a deliberate grace, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of determination and a hint of nervousness that only I seemed to notice. She addressed the investors, her voice surprisingly steady despite the circumstances.
"Gentlemen," she began, "thank you for taking the time to consider my proposal. I know you have many options, but I believe my startup offers something truly unique." She launched into her presentation, outlining her business plan with passion and precision.
I watched, a knot forming in my stomach. My mother had always been a strong, independent woman, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. There was a desperation in her eyes, a vulnerability she usually kept hidden.
2 years back, everything was in place. My father used to run one of the biggest digital marketing agency in the country. My mother was CTO there. I was living the best life possible. Until one day, when my mother caught my father banging his secretary.
He abandoned us and started to live with his secretary. My mother resigned with a motive to seek revenge on them. She started to work on her dream project, her new startup - DIGIMARKET
It was about a subscription based software, that will enable the companies to directly market their products to target customers without the need of any agency. She started that with all the money she had. But till date, it has not made any profits.
After facing continuous losses, now only these investors are ready to provide her the money, but with some other expectations that they already discussed with her on the phone.
I don't know what exactly did they discuss over phone, but I know one thing for sure that my mother is very desperate to defeat my father and is ready to pay whatever price it takes.
As the presentation concluded, a silence fell over the room. The investors exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable. Karim Khan, the eldest of the group, spoke first.
"Ms. Chauhan," he said, his voice deep and resonant, "your ideas are... unconventional, to say the least. But we are intrigued. However, we have certain expectations. And I think you quite know about it."
Mom's smile faltered slightly, but she maintained her composure. "I understand, Mr. Khan. I am willing to do whatever it takes to secure this investment."
That's when the atmosphere in the room shifted. A palpable tension filled the air, a sense of anticipation that made my skin crawl. I knew how this world works and I knew, with a sickening certainty, that whatever was about to happen would change everything.
The air thickened with unspoken words, heavy with the weight of the investors' expectations and my mother's desperate ambition. Karim Khan leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light. "'Whatever it takes,' you say, Ms. Chauhan? Those are powerful words." He paused, letting the silence amplify his statement. "We believe in... immersive presentations, Ms. Chauhan. Demonstrations of commitment. Are you willing to show us how dedicated you are to this venture?"
Sonali's face paled slightly, but she held his gaze. "I am," she said, her voice barely a whisper, yet resonating with a steely resolve that both impressed and terrified me.
Karim Khan nodded slowly, a cruel smile spreading across his face. He clapped his hands, and a small Bluetooth speaker on the table sputtered to life, filling the room with the pulsating beat of an Indian item song : 'Fevicol se'. My blood ran cold. This was not a business meeting anymore. This was... something else entirely.
Mom took a deep breath, her shoulders squared. She looked at me, a flicker of shame crossing her face before it hardened into a mask of determination. She began to move, her body swaying subtly to the music. It started innocently enough, a gentle sway of the hips, a subtle tilt of the head. But as the music intensified, her movements became more pronounced, more deliberate.
She had lust in her expressions and her thumkas (steps). My breath hitched in my throat. I wanted to look away, to run from the room, but I was frozen in place, a horrified spectator to my mother's descent. I knew she was a great dancer, but i never expected to watch something like this in my entire life.
