The viper and the mongoose
Sometimes payback does not come with a paycheck.
I took the cheque with trembling fingers. Every fiber of my being ached to lash out, but I kept quiet. We needed the money.
“It’s over. Let it go. We won't make the same mistake again,” my husband said, hugging me. I wanted to cry, sob uncontrollably and scream till my throat was hoarse. The betrayal stung, the poison spreading rapidly through my nervous system. Instead, I nodded, holding it all in.
A common friend had recommended our design studio to Deepika. She was a fashion designer, well-known in the industry for her exquisite handwoven sarees and textiles. She called us in for a meeting.
“Tell me about this project,” she asked gently.
“This was a pitch presentation for an Ayurvedic brand,” I replied.
She smiled warmly. I couldn’t help but smile back. Everything about Deepika was gentle – her body language, mannerisms, voice – even the way she swept a stray strand of hair away from her face. She spoke slowly, languidly. She had all the time in the world to listen to me.
She was impressed enough with our work to give us the project – designing for her new store opening. The timeline was tight, but I knew we could deliver.
“We can help you,” I remember telling her. “Don’t worry.”
She smiled, sighing in relief. “Thank you, Samira. I know we don’t have time but I trust you.”
We had fourteen days to deliver 100 gift boxes, two sets of print invites, a show window display and a set of Thank You cards. It was tough, but not impossible. We convinced our vendors to work with our deadline.
“Hi Deepika, I have emailed you two invoices for advance payments. Please clear them both so that we don’t delay the production.”
Blue tick. She had seen the message. But she didn’t respond. This should have been the first red flag. But I didn’t have time to think. I asked my production team to begin the work, promising them that payments would come. I gave them my word.
“My chequebook has only one slip left. Should I give you the advance or the vendor?”
Combine the amount for both payments, I thought. But instead, I said, “Just our payment will do. You can clear the vendor's payment on delivery.”
“Thank you. You are so kind.”
This was the second red flag. But I was smitten. Every time Deepika praised me, I glowed internally. I had her back. I wanted to do a good job. I was young and foolish.
As the event drew closer, Deepika began calling me at odd hours.
“Can you design a third set of invites?”
“Can you pack the boxes as well? We are so short-staffed with the event.”
“Can you come for a meeting now? I only have a one-hour window.”
I was beginning to tire. But I said nothing. She seemed frail. She needed looking after. Events were stressful. I justified it all.
On the day of the event, the boxes were delivered on time, neatly packed with silk scarves that smelled of cinnamon and cloves. Hors d'oeuvres were delicately piled in three-tier trays while waiters offered us glasses of wine. She had insisted we come for the event. This was not my crowd. I felt uncomfortable surrounded by decadent perfume, diamonds, designer wear and people who kissed the air near your cheek. But I could not say no.
“Can we leave?” I asked my husband after an hour.
“Yes, please! I can’t take the glitterati anymore.”
The event was over. We had delivered. I was exhausted.
The next morning, I emailed the pending invoices.
Vendors needed their money.
We needed our money.
“Samira please come to the Khan Market store at noon today,” came the curt message.
“She better not fuss about the payments.” My husband echoed my rising fear.
Deepika sat at a large wooden table, our invoices in her hand. She looked up when we entered. I smiled. She did not smile back. Her entire demeanour had changed. The frail, helpless, gentle woman had vanished. She sat straight, her mouth set in a hard line. The snake had shed her skin and the new one was as shiny as it was lethal.
“I did not agree to any of these prices. I will not pay 750 per box. I will also not pay for the window display work. That was just shoddy. I am willing to give you half the amount. That’s it.”
I stared at her in disbelief. I felt the blood draining from my face, my ears heating up, heart palpitating.
“You approved all the invoices,” I heard myself say.
“Do you have it on email?” she asked, arching a brow.
Then it hit me, all the red flags falling into place – the puzzle complete. She had not replied to a single email. She had been smart, approving everything either on the phone or in person. I had no concrete proof. No evidence. I could not take her to court or demand that she pay the full amount. She had played a dirty game with a novice. Is that why she chose to work with us? A young design team that would do her bidding, no questions asked?
“You need to pay the full amount, Deepika. My vendors agreed to do the work on my word. I cannot pay them half the amount,” I tried again.
“That’s not my problem.”
The finality of it felt like a door slammed in my face.
In hindsight, I wish I had fought. I have a fairly good vocabulary of nasty words that would put my mother to shame. I wish I had used them. But I was scared that she would take the cheque back—or worse, that she would not pay at all. We could not afford that.
I took what was given and left quietly. We paid off all our vendors from our savings, but the betrayal was deep. It was the first time I had trusted a client, and she had hurt me. I wanted to understand why she had behaved the way she did, and I wanted her to hurt as much as I did.
My ex-boss, a man well-connected in the fashion circuit, had worked with her before. I called him in an attempt to understand what had happened. He heard my story and told me that she had done the same thing with him – refusing to pay once the work was done. There was a pattern here. I was not the only fool.
“Do you want to escalate this? We can write a joint letter to the FDCI,” he suggested.
“I don’t have any proof,” I sighed in frustration. Then an idea surfaced, “We can’t take her to court but we could warn others, expose her in her fraternity?” I suggested. He took the bait. Within days, news about Deepika’s unethical and unprofessional behaviour spread. I knew it because she sent me a scathing email. I ignored it.
I then called the design studio that had worked with her earlier. The art director was stunned to know that she was using the logo they had designed. “We never shared the files with Deepika because she didn’t pay us,” he said. “Then I suggest you take it up with her,” I replied.
Next, I called her production person and explained that she had refused to pay my vendors. “Thank you for letting me know ma’am. I will ask for full payment if I work with her again,” he responded, unnerved.
Sometimes payback does not come with a pay cheque. I had looked the viper in the eye and survived.
I don’t know if she suffered by my actions. Her store eventually shut down and a small part of me hoped I was the catalyst.
Deepika was my biggest failure and greatest life lesson.
I should thank her, but she doesn’t deserve it.
This story is not made up.
This essay was written in response to a prompt at the
Memoir workshop facilitated by and - a space which has encouraged me to write boldly and without fear.
Wow. I am so sorry you had to go through that. But yes, we've all been there, making excuses for the other person, TRUSTING them because we are good people ourselves, and we cannot imagine that someone can be underhanded. I'm glad you found your way to justice, these stories do not always turn out so well. xo
Loved the pace of this! The beautiful, glittering evening contrasted so sharply with the dirt that unfolded later. Left me with a yucky feeling! I guess she didn't know who she was up against!!