RAVINDER SINGH
PRESENTS
I Didn’t
Expect
To Be
Expecting
RICHA S. MUKHERJEE
To Anika, the little magician. You turned me into a
mother and a writer.
Contents
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
Acknowledgements
About the Book
About the Author
Copyright
1
Dham Dhaam. 19 February. 12:00 p.m.
‘Tara Maidam, I will not come from today. That Dham Maidam talks to bhoots!’
‘Radha, there are no ghosts here. And she is mentally ill, not a sorceress.’
‘I know all about ghosts. Last year, a bad ghost hopped inside my daughter and she was speaking Marathi for three days!’
‘So she had a Maharashtrian ghost visit her?’
This was actually one of the saner conversations that I had had with Radha, the Tamilian food incinerator on our payroll. She was the leader of the local bai mafia and could not stand Mrs Dham, our landlord’s wife. Mrs Dham, who rarely left the house and would turn up muttering to herself at the oddest of hours and places all around the property, more often than not scared the daylights out of Radha. A fresh encounter from the previous night had led to this Sunday morning outburst.
Our ground-floor apartment was in a two-storeyed building owned by the Dham family, and named – with zero ingenuity – Dham Dhaam (Dham’s house/abode), leaving poor tenants like us to deal with the scores of confused mailmen and delivery boys, who thought we were emitting a sound rather than directing them to our house.
‘Did the Maharashtrian ghost perform a lavani during the stay?’ I continued with my investigation.
‘Maidam, you joking, but I am scared!’
‘Radha, stop with this bhoot nonsense or I’ll send for Mrs Dham!’
Discarding Radha from my mind, I plonked myself in front of the TV, cup in hand and Sunday newspapers scattered around me. The steaming cup reached my lips and I was just about to find out why a wife in Bhiwandi had chopped her husband into little pieces when the bell rang.
‘Abhi!’ I yelled. ‘Please get the door.’
‘Babe,’ a muffled voice hollered back, ‘I’m in the loo.’
‘You’ve been inside for so long! Are you building a monument in there?’
‘Well!’ Abhi guffawed. I grunted with frustration and peeled myself off the sofa to answer the door. It was the cable man, armed with his dues list.
Once that was done, I whistled on my way back to the TV, wondering how that frail woman in the news had managed to chop up her husband, but instead of the news, I found myself looking at the sports channel showing highlights of a football match from the previous night. And there he was, grinning in front of it. My hubby. My Abhimanyu. The love of my life. But at that moment, all I wanted to do was whack the back of his head with the paper I was holding.
‘I was watching the news! Abhi, it’s our lazy Sunday. Let’s snuggle and watch a movie!’
He looked stricken at my suggestion.
‘But T, I missed the match last night. Just look at this goal. Sheer genius!’
I stared at the screen for a few seconds. Clearly, the genius was lost on me.
Carter Road. 7:00 p.m.
I sat on the bonnet of our car, a delicious souvlaki roll in my hand. Abhi was already on his second one. After finishing the mind-numbing match and watching two horror movies, we had headed out to Carter Road for a walk, followed by our customary Sunday night street-food ritual. After the rolls were gone, I grabbed Abhi’s hand with my still-sticky one, and we silently smiled at each other for a whole minute as the sun set before us.
‘Baby,’ Abhi said, still staring at the sun. ‘There are certain boundaries in every relationship. Even this one.’ I started giggling and held his hand even more tightly. ‘I think sticky saucy hands are that line for me.’ He grinned.
‘Five years into this marriage and you can’t handle my sticky hands, Abhi? Tsk tsk,’ I mocked him, and then grinned as he leaned over and dropped a small kiss on my lips. This time, as we settled back and stared into the horizon, I saw what seemed to be a frustrated-looking horse across the road. Right next to it lay a squawking child, flailing his arms and thrashing his body. Abhi noticed the kid too, and we looked at each other in alarm. The child seemed to be getting worse, and we darted towards him to help. ‘I think he’s having an epileptic fit!’ shouted Abhi as we crossed the road.
Once we got closer, we realized that a couple that looked like the child’s parents were standing a little distance away. I fished out my phone. ‘Have you called an ambulance already?’ I asked them. The mother was eating peanuts, the father stretching his arms.
‘What is wrong with you? He is having a fit!’ I shouted, shocked by their nonchalance.
The woman paused her munching for a brief second.
‘It’s called a tantrum. He wanted a horse ride, a Ferris wheel ride, an ice cream and a bag of popcorn at the same time,’ she said.
Abhi and I looked at each other and slowly walked away.
‘Don’t you think kids these days just need a good dressing-down?’ I asked, shaking my head.
Abhi laughed. ‘Then you can revel in the fact that you won’t have any dressing-down to deliver for a long time!’
2
Richard & Davis Advertising Agency. 20 February. 11 a.m.
The signal turned green and I looked at my watch. Damn! Late again. I cursed myself for initiating the battle of aloo paratha vs Radha’s daily pick for my dabba (dosa and chutney) early in the morning. After a sharp exchange of words she had given in, but with much grunting and wasting of time. And this wasn’t something new. Each day, she would move with the speed of a python and snake her way around the kitchen while I would sit waiting for my dabba. She had the biggest eyes in the world. Bigger than a raccoon’s. A single word spoken against her and they would protrude and fix on you as if she was looking right through your clothes and scorching your soul. At times, I really felt that she had underworld connections. All she needed to complete the look was to chew pan and stick a gun into the Angry Birds satchel she carried with her every day.
To make matters worse, Deenday
al, our driver, as usual insisted on washing the entire car and making it squeaky clean just when it was time to leave.
Shaking my head, I looked at my watch as I reached the office building. ‘Please hold the lift!’ I screamed as I ran to the shutting doors. A slender, manicured hand with Ferrari-red nailpolish slid out from between the shutting doors. The doors opened wide and there stood Ms Venugopal, ready with a big welcoming smile. ‘Come, come, Tara.’ I wriggled in to find myself in the lift with her and a pantry boy from my office.
Ms Venugopal was from the human resource department. A divorcee, good-looking, but with this Silk Smitha aura about her that made a lot of my colleagues feel like buttoning up their shirts.
As per the universal elevator protocol, all three of us silently watched the floor numbers flash by on the display. On reaching my floor, I walked out with a polite nod. As I exchanged pleasantries with colleagues along the way, I noticed that Sania’s workstation was empty. Sania, a colleague from the creative team, also happened to be my closest friend – best summed up as a gorgeous girl with a lively spirit and the filthiest mouth on the planet. While crossing by her desk, I couldn’t help but notice that there were new photographs pinned on her flat-board. One featured yours truly, right in the centre of it, looking extremely drunk and sitting on mechanical bull while balancing a glass on my head. Another one had me being weightlifted by Abhi. What a lovely way for the office to get to know the vice president a bit better. I’d told Sania several times to keep our personal equation out of office, but she could never stick to the brief.
I opened my cubicle’s door and saw her planted comfortably on my table, flipping through a magazine.
‘Saniaaaa!’ I barked at her. ‘Why have you put those pictures up?!’ To her credit, she looked vaguely remorseful.
‘Oh b######d. Sorry! I really meant to take them down. Completely slipped my mind. Anyway, forget all that. This Saturday there’s that dinner at Globetrot, and we’re on for next Saturday’s girls’ night, right?’
‘Sania, I can’t make it next Saturday. We are going to attend the opening of that new club, Thalassa. Hey, would you like to come?’
Sania paused for a bit and then said exactly what I knew she would. ‘Who all are coming?’ This was the classic Sania query before every plan. Who all were coming? How many people? Who was bringing whom? When were they born? What were their first words? She must’ve had a childhood replete with extremely bad parties to warrant this level of wariness and suspicion towards social gatherings.
Rolling my eyes and arching one eyebrow, I divulged some information. ‘Well, if you must know, Mani, Shoma … and Kabir.’ I knew what was coming.
‘That ha###i?!’ shrieked Sania as I cringed. ‘He is such a weirdo, and he thinks no end of himself. Really annoys me!’
Kabir, Abhi’s best friend, was a civil engineer and an MBA grad, working for a prestigious Chicago-based real-estate firm called Perinord. Qualified, suave and jovial, he was quite the ladies’ man but Sania couldn’t bear the sight of him. I tried to reason with her. ‘Well, he is a good friend. And as my best friend, you have to put up with him. Besides, he is not all that bad. Deep down, he is rather sweet.’
‘So deep down that it isn’t visible!’ Sania scoffed. ‘Anyway, I should be able to come,’ she finally conceded. ‘But I’ll confirm early next week. By the way, I’m dropping by tonight as well.’ After pecking my cheek, she was gone.
I settled down, opened my laptop and went about planning the rest of my day. There were two brainstorming sessions scheduled. Of course, as luck would have it, I was moderating the one happening post lunch, and would have the task of making a roomful of half-asleep people look attentive and contribute. A quick check on the lunch menu confirmed my worst fears. Chicken Manchurian and rice. That pretty much drove the nail in the coffin for that meeting. Everyone knows that every grain of rice is inversely proportional to post-lunch productivity.
11:30 a.m.
‘Now write down the first thing that comes to your mind when I say antacid,’ announced Harish Mehra, our planning head. My phone buzzed and I excused myself. It was Abhi.
‘Hey baby! We won the Cell One account!’ he announced.
‘That’s awesome, Abhi! Congratulations!’ They had been working on this new business pitch for over two months.
‘How is it going at your end?’ he enquired.
‘Well, let’s just say I can now officially write a book on digestive disorders and the havoc they wreak on the lives of the victims. Come save me!’ I said theatrically.
‘Well,’ Abhi responded pensively. ‘If it makes you feel any better, I have to drop by the Tuffs shoot and sit around while a well-muscled man poses in micro-underwear.’
‘Wish we could switch places! By the way, Sania is coming over for dinner tonight,’ I informed him.
‘Alright. But will she be able to eat Radha’s burnt delicacies or should we order?’ he asked.
‘I have a feeling we’ll be opting for Plan B.’
1:00 p.m.
‘Can’t anyone think beyond gas? Be a little creative!’ thundered Harish an hour and a half later. ‘Anyway, let’s take a lunch break and then it’s over to you, Tara.’
I sighed. It was going to be a long and gassy day.
3
Dham Dhaam. 25 February. 9:00 p.m.
Abhi was sitting on the couch, watching me as I got ready. We were running horribly late. I was hastily trying to apply eyeliner with a steady hand, but Abhi’s unwavering gaze in the mirror and his slight smile was making me fidgety. I protested. ‘Have I grown a tail that I’m not aware of, Abhi?’
His smile broadened. ‘I don’t know about your tail but I sure feel like wagging mine in delight. You’re looking gorgeous, love!’
I looked at myself in the mirror, patted my flat stomach, which I always did to ensure it was still flat, and shot Abhi a smile which I only reserved for him. I went and plopped myself on his lap and gave him a slow once-over, running my eyes over his crisp white linen shirt and handsome heart-shaped face that sported a slight stubble.
‘You’re not looking so bad yourself, you know.’
Abhi rolled his eyes. ‘What a half-hearted compliment!’
‘Oh come on now, drama queen. We’re very late and I need to get ready!’ I laughed, and pushed him out.
A few minutes later, I found myself standing outside, witnessing an only-too-familiar ritual.
Abhi’s brow was furrowed in concentration and he was bent over one of the car tyres, scrutinizing something that was stuck there. Before he could even straighten up, I knew what was coming next. He would check all four tyres, then he would run his hand along both sides of the car, checking for any scratches his errant eyes might not have identified, and then he would finish off this lovemaking session by walking around the car one last time. But we were already late, so I shouted, ‘Let’s go!’ and pushed him towards the driver’s seat.
Globetrot Restaurant. 10:15 p.m.
Our favourite table was located in a corner of the restaurant. Just reaching the table made me feel warm and fuzzy inside and I couldn’t help but smile. We were there to meet a motley mix of some of my favourite people. Mani, Shoma and Sania. Only Kabir was missing.
Mani and Shoma were there already. These two had possibly been in love with each other from a previous birth, had attended the same school and college, and even managed to get into the same B-school.
Shoma noticed us approaching and shouted, ‘T! Your Pimms is ready and awaiting.’
I’d discovered Pimms, a rose-coloured nectar made by the gods, with a friend and Abhi on the streets of London.
‘Why must you pander to your addictions in this manner, Tara?’ There was a momentary pause while all eyes turned on Sania, who’d asked this deep question. For a second, she had a wise look on her face, and then she dissolved into laughter, downing her whisky sour in one huge gulp. ‘Leave some whisky for the rest of us, prophet Sania,’ piped in Abhi as he playfull
y winked at her.
Soon, the food started arriving at the table. In between bites, we started chatting about Mani and Shoma’s upcoming trip to the Andaman and Nicobar islands. Everyone at the table was a travel enthusiast. Sania even had her own travel photography blog. Shoma and Mani were travelling to an island called Havelock to get their next level of certification in diving.
Mani’s eyes suddenly became wide. ‘Guys!’ he said excitedly. ‘Come with us. All of you! Even if diving doesn’t interest you, we haven’t taken a trip together in a while. Come, come! I’ll find cheap tickets.’
‘You guys are going next weekend and I’m already booked for a trek then,’ said Sania apologetically.
‘And two weeks after that we leave for Italy, bro,’ added Abhi.
‘Oh well,’ said Shoma, giving Mani a side hug. ‘There’s always next time. There is no last trip and no last plan with friends, right?’
As we toasted to that, I was distracted by a noise. The din from the adjoining table was so loud that I felt like sticking the prawn tempura into my ears. I stole a glance. The table hosted four couples with a whole bunch of kids, their ages ranging from possibly two to five years. Two women chatted animatedly while the husbands wore defeated expressions on their faces. One of their kids was upside down on a chair with his legs flailing around, kicking anything that came in his way, including the dad’s face. Another set of kids were treating the chair between them like the Gaza Strip and shouting at each other across the border.
One kid was trying to start a fire, with the confidence of a pyromaniac. His father caught him in time before the smoke alarm went off. The other two mothers, armed with spoons and holding boxes of food, were busy chasing their children who, in Hansel and Gretel fashion, kept spitting out all the food, leaving a trail for their harrowed mothers to follow. My heart went out to the poor parents. I scanned the room as I often did, in an attempt to try and read expressions and generally observe people. There were a lot of furrowed eyebrows, rolling eyes, clucks and ‘What sort of parents are these? Can’t control their children’ looks being exchanged, some at our table as well.
My thoughts were interrupted as I felt Abhi’s hands slip into mine. ‘What are you thinking, love?’
I smiled back at him as he put a particularly yummy fish starter in my mouth.
I Didn't Expect to be Expecting (Ravinder Singh Presents) Page 1