10:00 p.m.
‘Abhi, I’m going to cry.’
‘Baby, I started crying after the last traffic jam we managed to crawl through. Haven’t you noticed?’
This was turning out to be the worst idea since shoulder pads in the ’70s. But as warriors on a mission, we couldn’t turn back, now that the butter chicken code had been invoked. ‘Never say no. Always try and get more.’
Tony Da Dhaba. 11:15 p.m.
At long last, Tony Da Dhaba came into view. To our horror, most of the chairs had been turned upside down and placed on top of the tables – a clear message to approaching customers to basically take a U-turn and go home.
Hearing my long and exaggerated sigh, Abhi looked at me and said, ‘We have not driven through hours of horrendous traffic for nothing. We are going to Italy and we will eat at Tony Da Dhaba tonight, even if I have to borrow one of their kadhais and cook butter chicken myself!’ I wanted to kiss him for this absurd statement and amazing determination, despite the slim chances of even getting water now, but he very calmly took my hand as we walked towards this large man who looked like he was in charge. He was overseeing the washing of dishes and general clean-up.
‘Uncleji,’ Abhi said, clearing his throat. Uncleji turned around and announced, ‘We are sutt’, and promptly turned back to shoot some more instructions to the plate washers, who were now looking in our direction curiously.
As if possessed, Abhi called out to the extremely annoyed-looking Uncleji again.
‘Uncleji, please listen to me. First I thought of lying to you and saying that my pregnant wife is hungry. Then I thought I’d tell you we both were sick and needed food before eating our medicines. But I’ve decided to tell you the truth. We have driven all the way from Mumbai just to eat your butter chicken and we will be very sad if we go away hungry. Please?’ Which was followed by one of his heart-melting special smiles, usually reserved only for me.
There were about a score of amused eyes upon us by the the time this speech was concluded. All washing and cleaning had stopped, now that they had front-row tickets to the evening’s entertainment. Uncleji, who was until now on mute mode, suddenly burst out laughing.
‘Tu pagal hai,’ he guffawed. ‘But you seem like a nice guy. Let me see what I can do.’ Then he turned to his staff. ‘Chintu, there must be some chicken left in the black kadhai. Give it to both of them with some roomali.’
Our hearts leapt with joy at this announcement and we thanked Uncleji profusely. The only catch was that since all the seats had been cleaned up and turned in for the night, we would have to sit and eat on a bench next to the enclosure full of emus. We couldn’t care less. The food arrived and smelt like heaven in a kadhai. We raised a toast to our upcoming trip and Uncleji’s generosity with pieces of butter chicken, while the emus sat next to us, listening intently as we chatted and laughed into the night.
7
Our Car. 10 March. 7:00 p.m.
The pitch had gone off well. After the tension of the last few days, I finally found myself relaxing. The pitch was done, the visas had come in surprisingly quickly, a new country was beckoning and I was going home to my love. My peaceful purring was interrupted by a phone call. It was Mr Vohra.
‘What does he want now?’ I muttered under my breath, and then remembered that I had completely forgotten to call him after the pitch. ‘Hey Mr Vohra,’ I answered the call and said. ‘I was just about to call you.’
‘I was wondering when you would feel the time is right to update me,’ he said very slowly. Oh no. Military Vohra.
I chirped on, trying to control my irritation. ‘The meeting went off well. Just one more meeting for fee negotiations before they make their decision.’
‘Good,’ he said, sounding like the Grim Reaper. ‘Also, I needed to tell you about the fee negotiation meeting with Y&A. It’s been fixed for the 17th at 7 p.m.’
That fat b#####d Murphy. Why of all days was this meeting fixed for the evening we were leaving for Italy? ‘Is there no way we can push this meeting to the previous day?’ I took a chance, but I also knew how long we had waited to get any slot in the first place.
‘Is there a problem?’ he enquired, but I was suddenly too tired to explain.
I finished off with a ‘No problem. See you tomorrow.’
My spirits, which had soared to the roof of the car with champagne in hand, were now fraternizing with the tyres. As I pulled into Dham Dhaam, I was just glad to be home.
Dham Dhaam. 7.45 p.m.
I walked in to see Abhi on the couch, watching TV. Oddly, he still hadn’t changed after getting home. His tie was loose and the first few buttons of his shirt were undone.
He had a mysterious smile on his face. ‘Hi baby. How was your day?’
‘It was good,’ I murmured while putting my laptop bag down. He kept staring at me and then opened his arms wide.
‘Come. Talk to me.’ He knew me too well.
I kicked off my shoes and went and curled up next to him. ‘Just my luck, Abhi. I have an important meeting lined up for the evening that we leave! It’s at 7 p.m. If it goes beyond half an hour, I’ll have absolutely no time left to meet you back here before running to the airport.’
‘Hmm,’ Abhi agreed. ‘That is cutting it too fine, but there is no point in stressing about it right now. We will figure it out.’
‘True,’ I said, letting it go for the time being. ‘But Abhi, why is it so dark in here?’
‘It’s dark?’ He sounded surprised.
I looked at him quizzically. ‘I can’t even see the door from here!’
‘Well then, let’s do something about that,’ he said, getting up. In a few seconds, one of the dim lamps on the further corner of the hall lit up.
My jaw dropped. There were flowers all over the hall and chocolates on the side tables. The dining table was replete with candles, more flowers and some mysteriously covered dishes. Abhi was walking around, lighting the candles with a smile on his face.
‘Welcome home, baby,’ he said. I had no idea how he had managed to get away from work in time to do all this before my return.
‘Baby!’ I jumped up like an excited toddler. He was laughing as he gathered me in his arms.
‘You know you will be disowned by Kabir and your boy gang if they ever find out that a romantic little girl lives inside this big burly body of yours, right?’ I said to him.
‘So be it! And while there needn’t be a reason to pamper the love of my life, I’ll tell you what this is for. You took an off for me when I was unwell, you ate with me and the emus, then you sleepwalked through the next few days as a result. You save me ever so often from Radha’s oily works of art. And, well, you’re just hot!’ I smiled, my head resting on his shoulder.
‘So listen up,’ he continued. ‘I got you the Hard Rock Café burger you love so much, and dessert is a delectable red velvet cake, which will be followed by a massage. Of course, you’re massaging me as well, and we’ll end things with a refreshing soak in the tub where we won’t talk about work. And then we’ll settle down to watch a horror movie.’
Unfortunately, my calorie meter spluttered to life.
‘Abhi, I haven’t exercised at all this week. My ass is so huge right now it could eclipse the sun and I can’t afford to binge on…’
I stopped mid-sentence as Abhi suddenly picked me up and looked deep into my eyes.
‘You couldn’t be fat if you tried. Your behind is as scrumptious as the rest of you, and we will both workout through the weekend, alright? Now if you don’t mind, there is a certain change in the itinerary, now that you have reminded me about your gorgeous ass. You don’t mind, do you?’
I kissed his lips softly so he knew that I didn’t.
8
Nana-Nani Park. 11 March. 11:00 a.m.
Holi hai!
A one-hour jog later, looking like we belonged in an Asian Paints shade card book, Abhi and I finished off our workout at our favourite running track near the house with some cooling down.
/> The morning rays of the sun were working hard to find a passage through the thick gulmohar trees as we lay down on the grass. A bunch of uncles who would usually be having a heated debate about some recent political upheaval were instead enjoying mithais that their wives had prepared and sent in steel dabbas. The laughter club was also busy throwing water ballons with the kids. Aunties clad in their sarees and running shoes were huffing away at the outdoor exercise equipment donated to the ground by the BMC, warily eying every multicoloured individual approaching them. A typical Saturday morning had been transformed by the festival fervour.
I called to one of the vendors and bought spicy chana.
Abhi turned towards me. ‘So here’s the final itinerary. We land in Milan and stay for two days. Then we are off to Florence. Three days there. Then Venice for three days and we end things off on a high in Rome, another three days. Just like we had decided.’
‘That sounds perfect, Abhi.’ I smiled.
‘Now let’s touch base with whoever is coming to the Thalassa club opening tonight,’ Abhi suggested. I stretched across the grass and yawned again.
‘And before that, it looks like a certain cat needs a nap,’ he said, kissing me on my head.
Dham Dhaam. 12:00 p.m.
I had just finished chatting with Sania about the clubbing plan at night when another car pulled up behind us as we reached home. It was Mani’s. He climbed out, followed by Shoma and Kabir.
‘Happy Holi!’ they shouted in unison. After a round of hugs, Kabir went back to the car to pull out some bottles and a bag full of colours.
‘Is that milk?’ I balked at the thought of consuming plain milk.
Kabir came and put an arm around my shoulders. ‘Darling, once you’ve had this nectar I’ve concocted, you’ll be mooing your thanks to me for a week! C’mon.’
1:30 p.m.
I was calming Shoma down. I had found her shrieking, standing next to one of the bushes in the garden. Turned out, Mrs Dham had made an appearance while we were out in the garden playing Holi.
‘Shoma, you should be used to this by now. It’s just Mrs Dham. She has strange habits, sure, but she’s pretty harmless.’
‘Harmless? She was looking positively scary!’
‘Shoms, you just need another glass of bhang!’ suggested an intoxicated Mani with a loud hiccup. ‘Then Mrs Dham will look like Sushmita Sen!’
My phone rang and I wiped my wet hand on Abhi’s shirt before I took the call.
‘Beta, you don’t tell me anything anymore. You went to Lonavala for butter chicken? Lonavala! No one listens to me these days.’ This was followed by a loud hiccup and sniffles. ‘And that sister of yours! Selling milk for a living. What am I supposed to tell my friends? That my daughter is a milkmaid after so much education?!’
‘Mom, I’ve told you so many times. She is not a milkmaid. She has an organic milk startup called Mr Moo Moo. It’s doing really well.’ Then it dawned on me. ‘Are you drunk?’ Even the possibility was hilarious.
‘Sure! Call your old mom a drunk.’
After I’d stopped laughing, I resumed my enquiry, ‘Happy Holi! Where are you both anyway?’
‘Panna Baba’s followers organized a Holi party,’ said Papa, responding this once.
I started laughing again. ‘The Panna Baba rave!’
He hung up, promising to call again as I continued laughing.
Dham Dhaam. 3 p.m.
Drunk, multi-coloured, tired and hungry, we were all waiting for lunch while Radha was busy with her queries and resultant delays.
‘Didi, this rice is spoilt.’
‘No it’s fine. It’s called brown rice.’
‘Hain? Par why is it kaala?’
‘It’s not kaala, it’s dark brown.’
‘I’ve never seen it.’
‘It’s very expensive. Not available in all stores.’
‘I haven’t seen it in anyone else’s house.’
‘Everyone doesn’t like the taste.’
‘So you pay a lot of money to eat something that doesn’t taste like rice, does not taste good, that no else one has?’
I could hear a few cackles from Abhi while Radha continued grilling me with her piercing questions about the rice. ‘You know, Tara,’ he announced without looking at me, ‘this might be a sign from God. Macher jhol with brown rice is sacrilegious. If anyone in the Bong community finds out, we will be excommunicated, I tell you.’
9
Our Car. 11 March. 10:10 p.m.
You know you’re heading to a so-called ‘banging’ place when you get stuck in a kilometre-long car line leading upto the entrance. We were on our way to Thalassa after a brief rest post our bhang-filled afternoon.
What was most impressive was how quickly an enterprising commercial community had suddenly sprung up, thanks to the snaky and slow-moving lanes. Within fifteen minutes, mineral water, popcorn, peanuts and bad-luck-repelling mirchi-kissed lemons were on offer, their hawkers milling around the cars.
I smoothed down my muted matte-gold halter-neck dress, which I was wearing with the wet, ‘just washed’ hair look tonight, and then stole a glance at Abhi. I took in his slightly spiky hair, which was as soft as a baby’s, his perfect nose, his full lips, his confident chin with its slight dimple. My heart still thumped loudly every time I looked at him. That’s how I had known all those years ago that he was the one. Then I looked at his hands on the steering wheel. Strong, sturdy, beautiful hands that had taken mine and put a ring on my finger. Deendayal had been available to drop us tonight, but I always looked for opportunities to sit next to Abhi while he was driving. A thirty-two-year-old buddhi and thirty-four-year-old buddha, married for five years, and I still felt like a dizzy teenager around him.
Suddenly our phones started ringing. Abhi got a call from Mani, who was waiting with Shoma at the entrance. Kabir and Sania were just reaching. My call was of course about some work crisis, which meant that I would have to be on a con-call soon. I felt that familiar ‘My night will be destroyed’ bile rising in my throat. We both finished the calls at the same time.
‘Baby, I might have to get on a short call at some point,’ I told Abhi. He knew the drill, which he himself had gone through on so many evenings.
‘Oh ho. Okay. I’ll try and find you a quiet spot in a little while. Let me know when, alright?’ He touched my cheek reassuringly. ‘And here we are!’
Thalassa. 11:15 p.m.
After the valet had taken the car, we turned to soak in the atmosphere. The entrance to the club and the area just outside were teeming with socialites, celebs and journalists. Our friends were near the door. On spotting them, we waved and began making our way towards them. Sania was looking particularly gorgeous. She had worn a short red sleeveless dress with a cowl neck. Her hair, usually tied up in an austere knot, was enjoying its freedom tonight. Just before we reached our friends, I shouted excitedly to Abhi over the music: ‘Kabir is totally checking out Sania! Look!’
Abhi was just about to dismiss me when he saw Kabir stealing yet another furtive glance at Sania and laughed. ‘You’re right! The Thalassa magic, I suppose? Turning foes into friends?’
Sania ran towards me and gave me a bear hug. ‘Come, let’s get in.’
Mani looked at me and whistled. ‘Wow!’
‘Why thank you Mani, for being so expressive!’ I said, taking his arm. ‘Where’s Shoma?’
He pointed closer to the entrance. ‘She met a friend.’
Since we were on the owner Viraj’s guest list, we walked past the long line. As the doors opened, we were blasted with a heady mix of music and the smell of sweat. I swear I could sniff some vomit as well.
‘What the…’ Sania started. ‘It’s just eleven-thirty. How on earth has this place already gone to the dogs?’
We had to form a human chain to get to the bar and not get swept away in the tidal wave of giggly teenagers. I banged into Baba Seturam, the current rage among spiritual gurus and on Mom’s current Top 5 Babas list.
/>
I looked at Abhi, perplexed, and screeched at him in order to be heard, ‘What is he doing here?’
Abhi laughed and shouted back, ‘Trying to set this wayward crowd back on the path of righteousness, of course.’
Luckily, we bumped into Viraj at the bar. ‘Hey! You guys made it! So, what do you think?’ Even in the dim lighting and the artificial smoke haze he saw our faces and guessed the unanimous response. ‘I know, I know. I asked some people and they invited some more people and before I knew it, India’s entire population had turned up.’
Abhi jumped in and put an arm around Viraj. ‘Buddy, don’t worry about us oldies. Look at the response this place is receiving on its first night! It’s a success already.’
‘Forget about the kiddie party here,’ Viraj bellowed. ‘Come upstairs to the private section, where the grown-ups are.’ He smiled and led the way towards a large spiral staircase intricately covered in shards of glass.
As we ascended above the clouds of smoke and haze, the skies suddenly cleared and we started discovering what the club really looked like. It was an impressive double-storeyed structure. There were cages with gorgeous ethereal dancers in them and the six bars were hard to spot as they had been almost completely swallowed by the crowds. The private area had some magnificent ice sculptures planted in temperature-regulated glass domes, with footlights piercing through the ice and giving the whole place a luminescent, almost eerie glow.
It was very difficult to converse without developing laryngitis, so we just walked around with our drinks, soaking in the place and moving to the music, which was great. From the upper deck, you had a panoramic view of the whole club and the ground floor. I leaned on the railing with Abhi beside me, and let my gaze settle on the massive swell of the crowd below us.
‘A penny for your thoughts?’ Abhi nudged me gently.
I pointed down and said, ‘Okay. Let me share my club crowd analysis with you. Let’s break it up. The biggest cluster is that of the “Hormone Happy” teenagers, with all the manipulation and money.’ I pointed to a few groups of young boys and girls, sharing furtive looks and knowing smiles. ‘They are territorial about the dance floor and charge towards it like a herd of elephants when popular numbers play.’ Abhi laughed as I shifted my finger to another section of the crowd.
I Didn't Expect to be Expecting (Ravinder Singh Presents) Page 3