Part 25: Yearning for Reunion

The voice on the radio sent a jolt through Kasturi. Her heart pounded as she leaned forward, straining to catch every word. The speaker, introduced as Ms. M. Ray, was eloquent, her tone familiar and soothing. But was it her? Could this be Meena?

“Madam, where should I drop you?” the driver interrupted her thoughts, glancing at her through the rearview mirror.

Kasturi hesitated for a moment, then blurted, “Take me to Akashvani Bhavan!”

The driver raised an eyebrow. “Madam, we’re in South Extension. Akashvani Bhavan is near Connaught Place—it’s a long way from here, especially with this traffic.”

“I’ll pay you extra. Please, I need to get there now,” Kasturi insisted, her voice trembling with urgency.

With a resigned nod, the driver maneuvered the car into the chaotic Delhi traffic, weaving through honking vehicles and impatient rickshaws. Kasturi clutched her bag tightly, her mind racing. She had spent years wondering about Meena, years imagining what she might say if they ever met again. And now, the possibility was so close she could almost touch it.

The car screeched to a halt outside the grand facade of Akashvani Bhavan. Kasturi barely waited for the driver to stop the engine before throwing a wad of cash onto the seat and darting out.

“Keep the change!” she called over her shoulder as she stormed toward the entrance.

Inside, the cool air-conditioned hall buzzed with quiet activity. Kasturi’s hurried footsteps echoed as she approached the security desk.

“I need to know where the program with Ms. M. Ray is being recorded,” she said breathlessly, flashing her NGO ID before the startled guard could even ask.

The guard hesitated but pointed down a corridor. “Third floor, Studio 5.”

“Thank you!” she called, already dashing toward the stairs. She climbed two steps at a time, ignoring the curious glances of employees and interns as she passed. Every second felt like an eternity.

Reaching the third floor, Kasturi stopped a passing assistant. “Where is Studio 5? The program with M. Ray?”

The assistant pointed down the hall, stammering something, but Kasturi was already on the move. She reached the door, paused to catch her breath, and then thrust it open with a force that startled the occupants inside.

The RJ, a young woman with headphones perched atop her head, jumped up, her wide eyes staring at the intruder. “What’s going on? Who are you?”

Kasturi scanned the room. It was empty except for the RJ and a technician adjusting the microphones. Her heart sank.

“I… I was looking for M. Ray. The author,” Kasturi stammered.

The RJ’s surprise softened into sympathy. “You just missed her. She left right after the recording.”

Kasturi felt a wave of disappointment crash over her. “Do you have her contact details? An address? Anything?”

The RJ shook her head apologetically. “I’m sorry, but that information is confidential. I can’t share it.”

“Please,” Kasturi pleaded, her voice breaking. “It’s important. I—” She stopped, swallowing her emotions.

The RJ hesitated, then offered, “Where are you staying? Give me your number or anything? I’ll see if I can help somehow.”

Kasturi scribbled her details onto a piece of paper, her hand shaking. She nodded her thanks, muttered an apology for bursting in, and left the studio.

The ride back to her hotel in South Extension was silent, the city’s noise muffled by the heaviness in her chest. Once in her room at The Orient, Kasturi collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling as disappointment coursed through her.

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The next morning, as the first rays of sunlight streamed through the curtains, her phone buzzed on the bedside table. She grabbed it, her heart leaping as she saw an unknown number flashing on the screen.

“Hello?” she answered, her voice tentative.

“Kasturi?” a cheerful voice replied. “This is Shanaya, the RJ from yesterday. I’ve got some information on Ms. Ray that might help you.”

Kasturi sat up straight, her breath caught between hope and disbelief.

“Tell me,” she whispered, gripping the phone tightly.

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