Veer wasn't lying when he said that he is very comfortable in water. Being in a spy profession needed Rajveer to learn many things. From running a multinational company to seducing a lady and making her scream secrets out loud, he has done everything. Swimming was quite a normal thing for him. He can easily stay underwater for more than 30 minutes by expanding his lungs for more oxygen using his shapeshifting ability. He could defeat any olympic athlete in swimming if he really wants to. Since rajveer can do all these things, his clones can do too.
When he and Mr. Braganza went for a practical test, there were quite a few people swimming inside the pool. Mr. Braganza told them to make way for this test. A few kids with their mothers, an old man, and some women lingered by the pool, curious about the test. There were a few others who were sitting in the dining area on the second floor, looking down at the pool.
If there's one thing that Veer is better at than Rajveer, it's the showmanship. Seeing that he was getting so much attention without doing anything, he thought of making the test a spectacle. This way, people will more likely notice him. Making it easier for him to build connections in the future. So, after getting his swimming gear from the club itself, he stood near the edge of the pool.
If before people were mildly interested, now because of his full body getting exposed to them, their attention was fully on him. A lady choked on her drink because of the sudden display of his muscular body. The mothers who were there for their children forgot all about them. Their eyes were so focused on his body that if eyes could radiate laser beams, Veer's body would have riddled with holes from top to bottom. A few were literally salivating on his full on body display. Men on the other hand were giving an envious glance. Few looked down at their pot belly, regret flashing in their eyes. But there were a few men who just scoffed at his display, labelling him as an attention whore. The boys were looking at him like some kind of messiah. They were hopeful to receive guidance directly from him to build this kind of body he has.
Veer approached the pool's edge like a quiet storm ready to break. The Otters Club's outdoor pool, bathed in the golden light of a fading summer afternoon, instantly transformed into his stage. Standing there, Veer exuded a natural magnetism. His body, chiseled with the kind of care and precision that seemed sculpted by the gods themselves, glistened subtly under the sun.
Without a word, he dove into the crystalline water. In that instant, Veer's every move became a masterclass in athletic poetry. He executed the butterfly stroke with effortless elegance, his arms rhythmically slicing through the water, each motion precise and full of intent. The splash of his dive, the gentle ripples that followed, and the explosive energy with which he surged forward all combined to create a spectacle that mesmerized the crowd. He was like a fish in the water. So effortless and elegant. Every onlooker, regardless of age or background, became mesmerized by his performance.
As he swam, Veer's eyes danced with a hint of playful charm. He offered knowing glances to the ladies in the club. It wasn't just about the skill on display; it was about how he infused every movement with charisma, leaving an impression that went far beyond the physical. His charm was as integral to his performance as his flawless technique, inviting admiration and leaving a lingering promise of future excellence.
By the time he emerged from the water, each droplet sparkled on his skin like precious jewels, and a few members of the club were clapping for him. Veer was confident that he had demonstrated to Mr Braganza that he was the ideal candidate to be their next swimming instructor.
He was given a bathroom for a hot shower and a clean towel to dry off his body. After wearing his original dress, he went to Mr. Braganza's office to discuss his performance and for further details.
Mr. Braganza was grinning from ear to ear after his marvelous display. Without wasting any time, he offered him an instructor position. But for that to happen, he has to sign some contracts. Since the Otters club has a very prestigious reputation, most of the members of the club were rich or had an influential background who very much liked their privacy. After going through all the clauses thoroughly, Veer signed the contract with a monthly salary of 10K Rupees, which was a good amount for a single person living in India in 1998. He can get extra income if someone wants him to be their personal coach, which he became then and there of one of the members. It was to coach a 13 year old boy named Ranveer Singh Bhavnani. They proposed to give Veer 800 rupees per session for becoming a personal instructor. He'll get further commissions if Ranveer shows any improvement. They will refer him to their friends and families if he does a good job. Veer has no problem with all these conditions so he readily agreed. Isn't that why he tried to get a job here? To get some connections with some rich people. It will make things easier for him and Rajveer for their future plans.
After everything was done, Veer, restless in the confines of Rajveer's apartment, decided to venture out and immerse himself in the city's chaotic rhythm.
The mid-April heat of Mumbai in 1998 was already a palpable presence by late morning, a thick, humid blanket clinging to everything. He donned subtly different features and inherent swagger made true anonymity a distant prospect.
His first foray into Mumbai's veins was via the local train. He'd caught a train from Bandra West, heading south. The experience was… visceral. The sheer density of humanity crammed into the compartments was something he was very much familiar with since there were many low level planets which were way backward than the current planet Earth. Bodies pressed against bodies, a communal breathing organism swaying in unison with the train's jerky movements. The air was thick with the mingled scents of sweat, spices, and something vaguely metallic.
Veer, despite his usual preference for personal space, found a strange fascination in the raw energy of it all. Hawkers squeezed through the narrow aisles, their voices hoarse as they peddled everything from vada pav to plastic toys. Students hung precariously by the doorways, their laughter echoing over the rhythmic clatter of the train on the tracks. The frustration and impatience etched on the normal working class Mumbaikar was palpable. He observed the faces around him – a cross-section of Mumbai life, each etched with its own story, its own destination. Infants incessantly crying in their mother's embrace, the ladies bitching and complaining about their husbands and in-laws, the men with a bag hung on their shoulders, daydreaming about the potential promotion the can get and the life that follows, the collective murky scent of the sweat under the surrounding armpits and the hands attached to it, barely hanging from the sheer burden they had to endure, Veer was seeing all of it. He even managed a charming smile for an elderly woman who was struggling with a heavy bag, earning him a grateful nod and a curious once-over.
Emerging from the train at Churchgate station, the sheer volume of people spilling onto the platform was almost overwhelming. Veer took a moment to orient himself, the cacophony of sounds – the announcements blaring from loudspeakers, the shouts of coolies, the incessant honking from the street outside – a stark contrast to the relative quiet of the train once it was in motion.
His next mode of transport was the iconic auto-rickshaw. He flagged one down, the driver a wiry man with a handlebar mustache and a seemingly permanent air of impatience. Negotiating the fare was a brief, animated affair, punctuated by head nods and rapid-fire Marathi that Veer understood clearly because of his fast learning trait.
The auto-rickshaw ride was a sensory assault of a different kind. The tiny vehicle zipped and weaved through the dense traffic with an almost suicidal disregard for lanes. The wind whipped past Veer's face, carrying with it the smells of a sea shore, like crushed seashells and dried sea spray, exhaust fumes, street food, and blooming jasmine from roadside vendors. The city unfolded in a series of rapid-fire snapshots – grand colonial buildings juxtaposed with makeshift shanties, bustling markets overflowing with vibrant colours, and the constant, unrelenting flow of human life.
Veer leaned back, a grin spreading across his face. There was a certain exhilarating freedom in this chaotic dance. The auto-rickshaw driver, seemingly unfazed by the near-misses and constant honking, expertly navigated the urban jungle. Veer found himself chuckling at the sheer audacity of it all, the unwritten rules of the road that somehow, miraculously, kept things (mostly) moving. He even engaged in a brief, flirtatious exchange with a young woman in a passing car, his charm working its usual magic even amidst the traffic snarl.
By the time the auto-rickshaw dropped him off near the Gateway of India, Veer felt a sense of exhilarated exhaustion. Mumbai in 1998 was a beast – loud, crowded, and relentlessly energetic. But beneath the chaos, he sensed a vibrant pulse, a resilience, and an undeniable spirit. It was a far cry from the interstellar peace he once helped maintain, but it possessed a unique, raw appeal all its own. He had only scratched the surface of this sprawling metropolis, but he knew, with a thrill of anticipation, that there was much more to explore.
Author Note: You can appreciate my work by rewarding my novel with stones. It will definitely motivate me to continue writing.