Evening, 6 PM.
Before 6 PM, the beach is like a typical traditional housewife—calm, composed, and serene. But as soon as the clock strikes 6, it transforms into a carefree teenage girl, bursting with energy and making noise. The waves, now playful, begin to mesmerize the evening sky, as if trying to reach out and embrace it, playing an endless game of hide-and-seek.
The beach becomes a common ground for everyone—the married, the unmarried, those in love, those going through breakups, the old, the young, the hopeful, and the heartbroken. All gather here, where the sea welcomes them without judgment.
Rishi lay back on the cool sand, eyes fixed on the waves, watching them chase the sky, seemingly racing to touch the heavens.
“Rishi, what goes through your mind when you look at the beach?” Rishab asked, breaking the silence.
Without turning his head, Rishi kept his gaze on the horizon and said, “I feel like I should collect all this water in a tank… to wipe away the tears of those who need it.”
Rishab raised an eyebrow. “Can’t you ever just give a straight answer?”
“I’m serious,” Rishi replied, still calm. “These days, no business beats the water business. It’s all a matter of fact.”
Rishab sighed, rolling his eyes. “Yup, there I go again, trying to have a normal conversation with you. My mistake. Remind me to scold myself for even trying. Anyway, do you have any money?”
“I don’t have a single coin or even a speck of dust in my pocket,” Rishi said, as matter-of-factly as ever.
Rishab shot him a puzzled look. “No money? Then how did you even manage to come here?”
Rishi shrugged casually. “With my own feet. I wore footwear and walked here. Simple as that.”
Rishab stared at him for a moment, both annoyed and amused. Six months of knowing Rishi, and he still couldn’t figure him out. Rishi had a peculiar way of thinking—serious, comedic, and realistic all at once. And somehow, Rishab couldn’t help but like him for it.
Rishi stretched out, looking relaxed. “You know, I’m craving something spicy. Like Mirchi Baji or Panipuri… something that fits this cool climate.”
Rishab smirked. “Of course, you are. As unpredictable as the sea.”
Suddenly, the beach became chaotic as a TV crew arrived—a lively anchor and a cameraman. People around instantly flocked to the scene, excited to show their faces on camera, hoping to catch a glimpse of themselves later on television.
“Hey! It’s a TV anchor! Let’s go!” Rishab exclaimed, bubbling with excitement.
“So what?” Rishi responded casually, not even moving from his spot in the sand.
“Are you serious? If we stand in front of the camera, we can see ourselves on TV!” Rishab’s excitement continued.
Rishi shrugged. “Okay, let’s say we do. After that, what?”
Rishab stared at him, utterly confused. “People will recognize us, man!” he said, almost begging for Rishi to catch the excitement.
“And?” Rishi replied, deadpan.
Rishab was moments away from banging his head on something. Why did he even try?
Meanwhile, the TV anchor approached them. Rishab, noticing her, immediately adjusted his shirt, ran a hand through his hair, and flashed a bright, toothy smile, preparing for his big moment.
“Excuse me! We’re from *Sunshine TV*, and we’re doing a program called *‘What to Do’*. We’d love to hear from everyone—young, old, or in-between—about their plans for the future. Care to share?” The anchor asked, turning to Rishab.
Wiping his face with a handkerchief, Rishab straightened up, his smile growing wider. “Hello everyone! I’m Rishab, and I’ve just completed my postgraduate studies. I want to become a director!”
“Director? Wow, that’s interesting! All the very best!” the anchor said with enthusiasm.
Then, the camera turned toward Rishi, who remained seated calmly next to Rishab.
“And what about you? What do you do?” the anchor asked Rishi.
Rishi, without missing a beat, asked, “What do I get if I answer?”
The anchor, momentarily thrown off, blinked in surprise. “Uh… excuse me?”
“I’m asking—what will I get for participating in this program?” Rishi said, looking at her calmly.
The anchor, still processing, said, “Well, the program is just for fun… to give people a chance to share their dreams with the audience.”
“And if I share my thoughts, what benefit do I get? I’m not a film star or businessman. You’re doing this program, and you’ll get paid for it, right?”
“Well… yes,” the anchor admitted, a bit taken aback.
“And the cameraman?” Rishi asked, glancing at the man behind the camera.
“Yes, of course,” she replied, a little flustered now.
“You spend money on shooting, equipment, telecasting—everything costs money. So why can’t participants get paid for contributing to your show?”
The anchor was left staring at him, mouth slightly open in shock.
“Sorry, sir, that’s not in my control. But you do make a valid point. Anyway, what do you do?” she asked, trying to steer the conversation back on track.
“I already told you—I don’t do anything without a benefit.”
“And what benefit did you get by coming here to the beach?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Peace,” Rishi replied simply.
Clearly intrigued, she smiled and, after a moment of consideration, pulled out 500 rupees and handed it to him. “Here’s a little something from my personal interest. I’d love to take your interview.”
Rishi took the money and handed it straight to Rishab. “Go get some Mirchi Baji and Pani Puri.”
Rishab gave him a disbelieving look before heading off to get the snacks.
The anchor, now thoroughly amused, asked, “So, tell me—what do you really want to do?” She signaled the cameraman to start recording.
Rishi, still relaxed, answered with ease, “I want to be a house husband.”
“What?” She blinked, completely caught off guard.
“Yes, a house husband,” he said, as calmly as ever.
“I was asking about your job!” she clarified, trying to make sense of what he was saying.
“And I’m telling you—I want to do the job of a husband. I even expect a salary for it.”
The anchor, still in shock, asked, “How can you say being a husband is a job?”
“Just like a housewife has a role, I believe a house husband does too. But I want to do it on a salary basis. I’m even thinking of putting an ad in the newspaper soon.”
At that moment, Rishab returned with Pani Puri and Mirchi Baji. Everyone, including the cameraman, joined in to enjoy the snacks.
The anchor, still processing Rishi’s unconventional responses, chuckled. “It’s been amazing talking to you, but I feel like I could have done better.”
“Will I get paid for that interview too?” Rishi asked with a straight face, making everyone laugh.
She smiled warmly. “I’ll personally make sure you get paid next time,” she said, offering her hand. “By the way, I’m Dharani.”
Rishi shook her hand with a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you.”
Little did either of them know that this brief encounter would end up being a turning point in his life.
