‘As you saw, the mall is almost complete. The builder has promised that it will be operational within six months,’ explained Gokhale to Leena Aunty and Jazmeen as they were returning to Chinchpokli in a blue and white Cool Cab after their fourth trip to Vashi.
‘Don’t you think it’s too big? Do we need so much space?’ enquired Leena Aunty.
‘But won’t you be interested in expanding your services as Vashi becomes more developed?’ Gokhale reasoned.
Jazmeen still appeared sceptical, but nodded at the man’s point. ‘You mean like starting a spa or a gym someday?’ she asked.
‘Oh, that would be so thrilling!’ said Leena Aunty, immediately excited.
‘But we have six more months before the mall gets ready. And the other party wants us to vacate Chinchpokli within a month after the sale so that they can renovate the place,’ Jazmeen said.
‘I still don’t understand why they are asking us to go!’ interjected Leena Aunty. ‘We could have just continued to carry on. After all, it’s not as if they are renting it out to someone else. It’s just us!’
‘Well, I don’t mind that they are renovating the premises at their own expense,’ Jazmeen said. ‘So why stop them? Let them redo all the walls, paint, electricals and water pipes.’
‘Yes, and I think they will take only about three months to completely scrape off the old construction and rebuild it,’ Gokhale said.
‘More like six to nine months, I think…’ Jazmeen said, sounding doubtful. ‘It’s the timing that is bothering me.’ She looked at Leena Aunty and then at Gokhale.
‘Three to six months tops,’ Gokhale bargained.
‘So what are we going to do with all our stuff in the meantime? And no salon to run for six months?’ Jazmeen asked.
‘To get such a good deal, we will have to make some sacrifices,’ Gokhale said. Jazmeen looked back at Leena Aunty.
‘Yeah, a little bit of sacrifice, dear. Six months will be up even before we know it!’ the older woman said, supporting Gokhale’s point of view.
Gokhale was nodding his head vigorously. Momentarily, Jazmeen also gave in, nodding her head at her two listeners.
‘And remember, dear, six months is the outer limit. It may all be over in three months!’ chirped the old woman, very excited at the prospect of owning two salons soon.
Sadly, it didn’t take even that much time for it to be all over for Leena Aunty.
Leena Bindra signed away the possession of the Chinchpokli space that had been bought by her dead husband’s father in 1952. Most of the proceeds from that sale—and 90 per cent of her lifetime savings—went towards buying her new, huge commercial property at the upcoming Glory Mall in Vashi. The rest of the money was kept aside to set up the interiors of the new salons as soon as the places were going to be made available to her after construction and renovation.
Gokhale had been like a rock, explaining the property sale and purchase process to her in great detail, reassuring her when she seemed to worry, and revelling with her when she was joyous.
If Gokhale had been solid as a rock, Jazmeen had been calm like the ocean. Leena Aunty was so grateful for having her by her side. ‘Once we have the Vashi place running, I will make her my business partner,’ Leena Aunty vowed to herself the day all the property paperwork was finalised.
She watched Jazmeen work tirelessly to get the items in the Chinchpokli salon packed and stored. The boxes were carted away to a temporary storage facility nearby, from where they were going to be extracted once full-scale renovations were complete—hopefully in three months’ time. Even though Leena Bindra was officially just a tenant in Chinchpokli now, she was glad that Hair and There—The Original Salon was going to make its grand beginning soon. And, God willing, flourish even more than its previous avatars.
When the proud sign of Hair and There Unisex Salon was torn down, Leena Aunty clung to Jazmeen, who hugged her back. Sareen stood respectfully a few feet away.
‘It is going to be all right, Aunty…’ Jazmeen said.
‘Had my daughter been alive today, she would have said the same thing to me!’ Leena Aunty thought, fighting back happy-sad tears.
As they all finally left the place that afternoon, she hugged Gokhale and thanked him for helping her with what was perhaps the most courageous decision of her life.
‘Kya, Auntyji? Why do you say thanks? Would I have not done this for my mother?’ he replied.
It was the last time Leena Bindra saw him.
The first stirrings of trouble began when he didn’t call to check in on her the next day, or the day after. Then, he didn’t show up for their lunch appointment in Sion on Sunday either. When she tried calling his mobile, the automated message claimed that the number she was calling did not exist. Dialing the same number repeatedly did not change the outcome. Panicked, a trip was made to Glory Mall in Vashi, where it was discovered that the store space that she had bought just days earlier had never even been on sale. It’s real owner was no NRI; it was a Gujjubhai from Surat, who planned to open a saree shop there in six months time.
It took almost a month for the 61-year-old Leena Bindra to finally face the devastating reality that her Man Friday Gokhale had vanished from the face of the earth, shattering all her dreams and robbing her of most of her worldly possessions. The shock was so intense that she suffered a massive heart attack because of it. The last phone call that she made in her life was to Jazmeen, who rushed the suffering woman to Lokmanya Tilak Municipal General Hospital in an ambulance. That, unfortunately, was not good enough.
‘I am sorry, but she has still not regained consciousness. We have put her on a ventilator,’ said the doctor when he emerged from the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit.
‘Ventilator?’ Jazmeen enquired.
‘If only we could have attended to her a couple of hours sooner, her already weak heart may not have suffered such extensive damage. And because of a lack of blood flow for a while, we suspect that her brain might have suffered irreversible damage too. That’s why she was already in a coma by the time you brought her in.’
‘So… it looks unlikely that she will ever recover?’
‘At this stage, it looks very unlikely. But, rest assured, we will take very good care of your mother while she is with us.’
‘She’s not my mother.’
The doctor looked at her questioningly.
‘She doesn’t have any family. I had worked for her as an employee for some time in the past. I am still not sure why she called me when she had her heart attack. She should have just called for an ambulance instead.’
‘I see. Yes, she may have been in much better shape now had she called for an ambulance immediately,’ the doctor agreed. Then, looking directly at Jazmeen, he asked, ‘In case we need to reach out to someone about her condition, should we call you? Looks like you may be the only one who meant something to her, considering, like you say, she didn’t have any family.’
‘Why should you call me? Like I said, she is nothing to me. I just did what I had to.’
The bewildered doctor simply watched as the girl turned and walked out of the double doors of the Visitors Lounge. That was the last anyone in the hospital saw her.
Leena Bindra never regained consciousness. She died in hospital four days later.
That night, Shailesh Bhimrao Gokhale, whose real name was Tobias ‘Toby’ James, and his girlfriend Rubina Peter made frantic love at Rubina’s flat in Matunga West. It was the best sex they had had in many days; the news from the hospital undoubtedly adding that extra kick to the proceedings. It was, after all, exactly the final outcome that they, and their house guest Jazmeen, had hoped for when they had first put plans together on how to dupe Leena Bindra of her possessions. Things had gone exceedingly well. In fact, the only surprise to Rubina and Toby had been how easily everything had fallen into place.
With Jazmeen away running errands, the lustful couple had had the entire flat to indulge in raucous, spirited lovemaking. When they wer
e finally finished, Rubina put her mouth up to Toby’s ear and licked it softly, making the man ticklish. Toby playfully swatted her face away and got out of bed.
‘Chal, get dressed,’ he said as he walked to the tiny bathroom naked. ‘Jazmeen must be on her way back. She said she will make us mutton biryani today to celebrate!’
Still lying in bed, Rubina made a face.
‘So, Toby, when are we kicking this fool out of our house? Aren’t we done with her now?’ she called out in her nasal voice that many, including the deceased Leena Bindra, found infuriating.
Inside the bathroom, unseen by his girlfriend, Toby stared at himself in the mirror. His lips were tightly pursed, his face a curious mix of indecision and defiance.
2
Girl, Interrupted
Ten years ago
The worst day of Jazmeen’s life began cheerfully enough.
Her name was Deepika Ahluwalia at the time.
A family picnic by Pashwar Lake in south Haryana was a fairly regular event on the Ahluwalia family calendar. The family made sure that they did one around late July or early August each year, usually picking a breezy and overcast day when a good amount of rainfall was anticipated. The Ahluwalias loved the rains and monsoon was their favourite season. Unlike most people, they looked forward to frolicking in the pouring rain, drenched to the bone! The kids would run after frogs along the lakeshore and collect little shankhs and perfectly rounded stones for their collections. They would spend hours playing antakshari or board games with their parents (and beating them roundly each time), and listening to spooky stories that their father told in scary voices.
The lake itself was a delight during the monsoon, bountifully brimming with greenish blue water and surrounded by vegetation that was lush, clean and dense. The rain transformed everything it touched.
Parmeet, Deepika’s father, had not been made to practice the Sikh tradition of kesh or keeping long hair when he was a child, and this unconventional family tradition had continued with his son Ujjwal. Ujjwal was a year younger than Deepika and was the exact opposite of his sister when it came to personality, temperament and looks. While she was a boisterous, outgoing and fashion-conscious girl on the cusp of glorious womanhood, Ujjwal still remained a gangly, introverted teenager, happy being a passive loner blending into the background. She was the kind who made friends of strangers easily, leaping across boundaries of propriety or restraint like it was a game of hopscotch, always asserting her presence and needs emphatically. He the type who would quietly accept whatever came his way, silently brooding if nothing did, his unhappiness hidden from all except his family, especially his sister. It was because of that reticence that Deepika always made sure that she demanded attention for his sake too, playing, even relishing in the role of Ujjwal’s guardian and protector when they were at school and among friends. In many ways, if it wasn’t for the elder sibling, the hushed yearnings of the boy would remain locked away inside the confines of his mind, their only physical articulation being a single creaseline of heartache on his forehead.
The only turf where Ujjwal allowed himself to be noisy and playful was with his parents, especially with his father. The boy was in awe of him, as was Deepika. It was perhaps because each saw their father as an older buddy who had already accomplished all the exciting things that they wanted to themselves – to know everything, to travel everywhere, and play all kinds of adventure sports, and sing and dance like a movie star. Their mother Sheetal was clearly the source of the good looks that Deepika seemed to have inherited almost entirely, leaving practically nothing for poor Ujjwal to receive. With a faint and mostly feigned frown that only very beautiful women like her can carry off and her no-nonsense demeanour, Sheetal was the authority figure in the Ahluwalia household. Though always loving, when Mummy said ‘No’, it meant ‘No’. In fact, a few minutes in the company of Parmeet and Sheetal and it was pretty clear who wore the pants in their house!
It was a Tuesday, and after just one look at the overcast sky that morning, Sheetal had decided that it was too good a day to be wasted on mundane activities such as school and office.
‘We will go to Pashwar today,’ she had declared amidst loud hooting by her husband and kids.
The family was well prepared to deal with such expedient circumstances on short notice for they did it three to four times a year—Bunk Days as they called them. A few quick phone calls were made to make the appropriate excuses. Parmeet called in sick at the private bank where he worked as a Marketing Manager; Sheetal, the Head of Reservations at a popular 5-star hotel in Connaught Place, excused herself on account of ‘son has 102 temperature’. Thankfully, no excuses needed to be made at school. The children had just taken their weekly class test on Monday, and in school, one could always carry a Sick Leave Application the day after taking a day off.
Armed with a dozen butter-and-jam-mixed sandwiches, several packets of chips, jumbo bottles of Pepsi, board games, umbrellas and sunglasses for each household member—and stories and jokes to last several hours—the four drove in their little Hyundai Accent to the pretty lake about seventy kilometres away from their housing complex in Faridabad. Many years ago, when Parmeet and Sheetal were kids themselves, their families used to make their picnic excursions to lakes like Badhkal and Surajkund which were a mere stone’s throw from where they lived. Sadly, illegal land development, mining and pollution had slowly taken hold of those water bodies, reducing them to either pint-sized puddles or drying them up completely.
The Ahluwalias reached the lake at around 10.30 in the morning. The thick rain clouds looked dazzling and the four waited anxiously by the lakeside for the occasional rumble and lightning to make way for resounding rain. The Monsoon Gods, however, held their reins quite steadfastly for several hours. The few boatmen who plied the lake for paying tourists sat idle, wary to venture out, given the seemingly imminent heavy rain.
‘As soon as the clouds clear up, Sahab,’ said one to Parmeet when he was forced by Deepika to ask the reluctant oarsmen a third time since they had arrived that morning.
‘But, Bhaiya, the kids have been waiting to go boating since morning. It only looks like it is going to start raining anytime, but not a drop has fallen for hours!’ pestered Parmeet.
‘Sahab, I would still take you—but it will be a problem for you city folk if it were to start pouring while we were in the middle of the lake. And you have children with you.’
The kids were disappointed. They had not had one opportunity to frolic in the rain all day, even though the skies had continued to look promising since morning. And now it looked like boating was going to be out of bounds as well.
Still, despite the setback of the unexpected dry spell, it had not been an unproductive day for them at all. They had spotted species of frogs and earthworms they had never seen before. They had seen a peacock in the wild for the first time in their lives. The magnificent bird had shaken its open plumage repeatedly, giving the impression that it was doing some kind of an exotic dance. Ujjwal had also managed to collect a stone that was completely golden in colour. The boy was convinced that it was solid gold. And, as usual, the younger team had beaten their older counterparts resoundingly at Scrabble, Chinese Checkers and Monopoly. Antakshari was another lost battle for the parents. The kids were always surprised how little their parents knew of the new songs. Then, right after lunch, Deepika had handily won the Loudest Burp contest too!
Later in the afternoon, by then slightly tired, everyone lay on the grass and heard Parmeet narrate a horror story from the time when he was a child and had travelled to Shimla with his parents. The family had lived in a large mansion. Which had to be next to a graveyard, obviously. His unpredictably twisty ghost story could only have been fiction, but Parmeet’s animated description had made everything sound spooky and real.
At around 4.30 PM, it was time to wind up the show and return home.
‘Look, Papa, it still hasn’t rained,’ said Deepika, as she sorted all the board games
into a large plastic bag.
‘We didn’t even do any boating!’
As the family walked past the pier where all the boats were tied, Ujjwal looked up at Deepika longingly. Their eyes connected and the boy communicated his dejection, though no words were spoken.
Deepika stopped in her tracks, causing the rest of her family to stop with her. She turned to look at the vast expanse of the grey lake and the huddle of colourful boats moored on the side. Then she looked at her father.
‘This could have been such a perfect day…’ she said, wistfully. ‘No, Papa?’
Her father looked at her for a brief, silent moment.
‘OK, let me ask the boatwala one last time,’ said Parmeet momentarily, nodding his head at his daughter. ‘I am sure he will refuse again, but what the heck!’
Three pairs of eyes waited as they watched Parmeet run to the other edge of the pier about fifty feet away and engage with one of the two men waiting by the boats. After about five minutes of conversation, which had started to make Sheetal fidgety, Parmeet waved frantically from where he stood, urging the waiting party to join him quickly. The delight on the kids’ faces had to be seen to be believed.
The boat, bobbing slightly on the waves, was brightly painted with motifs and, presumably, the boatwala’s surname emblazoned on its sides in large, red capital letters. As the four were being hauled into it, Deepika overheard her father tell her mother, ‘He was complaining that the wind’s starting to pick up. Took another Rs 100 for taking this risk. At least the kids will have a memorable day!’
Her mother nodded at him and smiled, pausing, just for a fraction to take one fleeting look skywards. Then, unhestitatingly taking the support of the boatwala’s hand, she clambered onto the swaying boat.
Pretty Vile Girl Page 4