I Didn't Expect to be Expecting (Ravinder Singh Presents)

by Richa S Mukherjee

  Abhi came out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist. ‘I think it’s bloody hilarious. Even I want to throw up on a client’s shoes. I think you did it deliberately because you don’t like him,’ he joked and laughed.

  ‘What rubbish!’ I exclaimed. ‘You know what the funniest thing is? Those otherwise aggressive brand managers have really been behaving themselves with the entire team these last couple of days. Almost as if they’re scared they’ll meet a similar fate if they irritate any one of us.’

  Richard & Davis Advertising Agency. 2:30 p.m.

  Just after lunch, I received a call at work.

  ‘Hello, Tara ma’am?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We congratulate you on your baby.’

  ‘Well, currently I’m still growing it. Who am I speaking with?’

  ‘Ma’am, do you know you become a parent when you understand your responsibility to protect your little one in every way?’

  ‘Hmm. I’m getting the drift. What are you selling?’

  ‘Ma’am, we don’t call ourselves salesmen. We like to call ourselves “gifters of life”, and we are offering your child a healthy life.’

  ‘Gifters of life? That’s funny. I thought that was my role.’

  ‘Ma’am, we at Lifegift do cord blood banking for your child.’

  ‘Aaaaah. That’s what you’re selling. I’ve read about this. I’m not convinced it’s of any use. Just for information though, how much does the package cost?’

  ‘Only Rs 99,999 for a twenty-one-year period.’

  ‘Oh. Only? That’s really cheap then. How old is your company?’

  ‘Two years, ma’am.’

  ‘So you don’t really know if any of the cord blood stored is even usable after twenty-one years.’

  ‘But we have great technology, ma’am.’

  ‘Sure. And is there even one client who has used the stored cord blood yet?’

  ‘Uh, no, ma’am.’

  ‘Hmm. So let me get this right. I’m supposed to give you a lakh to hold on to something that is being made by my body, for something you don’t have experience with and for something which might not even be used.’

  ‘But ma’am, we are gifting life to your child.’

  ‘Thank you for thinking of us! Bye!’

  2:45 p.m.

  Sania had entered the room towards the end of the conversation. I motioned for her to sit down while I handled the cord blood call. She smirked as she listened to me.

  ‘Cord blood banking, huh?’ she asked as I hung up.

  ‘Yup. I don’t get it. How do these people end up getting numbers? I’m sure the Peerbhoy Clinic gives them out. I got a call day before from some woman who makes nappys at home and offered to sell me a year’s supply! The bum to wear the nappy has not materialized and I’m already getting sales calls about it. I’m telling you, pregnant people are considered such easy marketing targets. Left to marketers, they’d put a baby’s face on a chappal and say it’s a special slipper for pregnant moms!’

  Sania chuckled. ‘Kabir’s niece is about a year old. They have a special laundry soap for her clothes, a different liquid for her utensils, different toiletries – basically her miniature baby stuff is crowding out all their grown-up stuff and she has practically taken over their whole house. Pretty hardcore!’

  ‘Talking about Kabir, how are things going? I’m sorry, I’ve been so consumed by the baby stuff, I haven’t checked in on you at all,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be silly, T. You’ve got a whole lot on your plate already.’ Then she smiled a coy smile. ‘It’s going great, actually. It’s just so easy being with him. I’m used to being all wound up when dating someone, but this feels like it was meant to be.’

  ‘Oh wow. Maturity! And no gaalis in a whole five-minute conversation. My my! You’ve come a long way, Ms Sania! I’m proud of you. And you mentioned Goa next weekend?’

  ‘Yes!’ she exclaimed excitedly. ‘Our first trip together. Wish you guys could come as well, but I know you can’t travel right now.’

  An e-mail alert popped up on my laptop. I casually looked at the subject and froze.

  ‘Oh no! I’m supposed to go to Chennai with Vohra day after. I checked with my doctor yesterday and she told me to avoid air travel till the first trimester is up. How could I forget to tell him! What will he do with a day’s notice?!’

  Here was a fresh new tomato soup I had landed myself in. How was my chameleon boss ever going to understand this?

  22

  Richard & Davis Advertising Agency. 13 April. 10:30 a.m.

  A: Tell him on the morning of the flight that you have infectious conjunctivitis.

  B: Pretend to be late for the flight and miss it.

  C: Tell him your astrologer friend had predicted this flight is going to crash, so you’d rather not be on it.

  Standing outside Vohra’s office, I wasn’t enthused by any of these options. Before I could finish the invisible foot-doodle masterpiece I was creating on the floor, the door flew open and I found myself an inch away from Raman Vohra’s face. He looked like he had just seen a ghost as I steadied myself.

  ‘Tara! Were you leaning against my door?’ he enquired testily. Oh no, just my luck. Military Vohra was back.

  ‘Err, yes.’ I smiled, probably looking like I’d just been caught scribbling on my desk by my class teacher.

  ‘Okay? What do you need to chat about? I have a lot on my plate. Make it quick,’ he said, furrowing his brow.

  I decided to just go for it and bite the bullet, ‘I’m really very sorry but I can’t come to Chennai with you tomorrow for the briefing.’

  His face suddenly lost the frown and his left eyebrow started doing that weird quiver it was famous for when he was miffed. It was as if it was moving to its own silent beat. It took all my self control to tear my eyes away from that performance.

  ‘But this is a huge account. You will be leading this pitch and they need to meet you. I’m just going as a liaison. What’s the matter, Tara?’ he asked, his eyes boring into me.

  In that moment, I thought of all the ridiculous options and then opted for just laying it out there, which seemed to be rapidly becoming my new style of communication.

  ‘I’ll just tell you flat out. I’m pregnant. The first trimester is very tricky. I can’t fly. I’ve been advised that the pressure change is not good for the baby at this developmental stage … I’m really sorry. I wasn’t planning on telling anyone till the first trimester was over, as is the usual practice, but I have to take you into confidence.’

  There are times when you’re given information that you don’t know how to handle. Like when your building watchman, whom you meet once or twice every-day, confesses to you that he has a foot fetish. You want to say something to break the awkwardness but all that you can manage is a smile. Mr Vohra was in this exact dilemma – even his talented eyebrow had deserted him.

  ‘Hmmm … well…’ he muttered unintelligibly, as if speaking to himself. But then he extended his hand.

  ‘Congrats, Tara. Very happy for you.’ Clearly, the shock had sent Military Vohra into temporary exile.

  ‘Now, about the meeting.’ He scratched his wig thoughtfully, changing its position. ‘Maybe I can just take the brief and you can join us on a Skype call? I’ll tell them you’re a bit under the weather. Does that work for you?’

  My heart soared. ‘Absolutely! Thank you so much!’ I said, smiling.

  ‘And … about the baby … I won’t tell anyone,’ he whispered conspiratorially, as if I had trusted him with a state secret.

  ‘Thanks again,’ I whispered and almost bounded away with relief. I had left a very contemplative and constipated-looking Mr Vohra in my wake, but I didn’t care what he was thinking as long as I wasn’t in trouble!

  Richard & Davis Advertising Agency. 5:00 p.m.

  The Chennai call had gone reasonably well. After the initial ten minutes of, ‘Hello, am I audible? Hello! I can hear you, can you hear me?’, we had s
ettled down to have a fruitful discussion. Back at my desk now, I was wolfing down a sandwich when I got a call from Mira.

  ‘Hey Tadeeeee!’ she chirped excitedly.

  ‘Hey, little one. How are you? And which city is currently being blessed with your august presence?’ I asked her.

  After a second’s silence, she said, ‘Which city? Your city! You forgot I was coming?’

  Oh my God. What was wrong with me?

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mira, I just keep forgetting things!’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. By the way, I’m standing outside the door. No one was answering so I called you.’

  My fingers flew over my keypad, dialling my I’ve-screwed-up-please-help number.

  ‘Abhiiiii! I forgot Mira was coming in today! I’m so sorry but can you please, please go give her the keys? You’re closer to home. By the time I get out and reach …’

  ‘Tara, calm down,’ my ice man’s ice-cool voice came down the line. ‘I still have some work left, but I guess I’ll figure something out. See you at home. And … relax. I’ll take care of it. Provided you promise to start writing things down now,’ he added, laughing.

  Sigh. What was happening to my brain? I patted my bottom to check if I had even remembered to wear underwear.

  23

  Dham Dhaam. 15 April. 11:00 a.m.

  ‘Mammaaaaaa! I can only see your chin. Tilt the phone.’

  ‘Arey! Now I can only see the painting on the wall.’ I woke up to Mira exasperatedly trying to get Mom and Dad to use the Letschat app. They had just wrapped their heads around Skype and she sprang this new bomb on them.

  ‘Beta, why can’t we just use Skype?’ Mom protested.

  ‘Yes, usmein we can see you perfectly,’ chimed in Dad.

  I figured it was time to move in and save them.

  ‘Hey Mom, hey Dad. It’s fine. We can hear you.’ By this time I could see a bit of Dad’s ear and a part of Mom’s head due to the wrongly positioned camera.

  ‘Hi beta. How are you feeling?’ they chimed almost in chorus and then Mom rushed in with her questions.

  ‘Are you taking enough rest? Did you have morning sickness today?’ It was a little disconcerting responding to their necks, but I answered dutifully.

  ‘I never had morning sickness when I was pregnant, but Saxena Auntie told me yesterday that ice cream really helped her daughter’s morning sickness recently.’ Saxena Auntie, who we jokingly called Sexyna Auntie, was their divorcee neighbour who had for years been making eyes at Dad – according to us – but Mom of course rubbished this, saying, ‘Everyone these days is a scriptwriter.’

  Suddenly, a red tablecloth covered the screen.

  ‘Beta, congrats!’ It was Sexyna Auntie. She retracted from the screen and I figured the tablecloth was her customary nightie. I had never seen her in anything other than that. She almost pushed Mom out of the frame and I could hear Mom grunting with irritation.

  ‘Beta, I’m so happy for you. Doodo nahao puto phalo,’ she gave her blessings.

  ‘Thanks, Auntie,’ I replied.

  ‘Achha beta, be sure to have bakri ka doodh. If you have goat’s milk every Monday and Thursday, you will for sure have a boy. I promise,’ she continued.

  ‘Is that so?’ Mira piped up suddenly, not sounding impressed. ‘So why did you have Nisha? No goats around when you were pregnant, is it?’

  ‘What to tell you, Mira beta,’ she said dramatically, pushing both Mom and Dad out of the frame. ‘My mom-in-law was one b###h!’

  ‘Language, please!’ my mom admonished her, reappearing on the screen for a second before being jostled out again.

  ‘Arey Veena, what’s the point in hiding things from the kids? My saas worked me to the bone, and let alone giving me goat’s milk, she would have made milkshake out of my blood if she were given the opportunity. May she have acidity in hell!’

  5:00 p.m.

  Mira was on her laptop while Abhi and I were trying to make sense of the pile of things she’d brought with her as gifts.

  ‘Mira, seriously, a musical laptop? A walker? RJ won’t be using most of this stuff for a very long time!’

  She finally looked up. ‘Tadi, I’m part of a temperamental start-up. Which also means the cash can stop at any time! Please let me indulge the baby before the cows change their minds!’

  Abhi chimed in, ‘It’s good Mira is stocking up. Babies are expensive to maintain. We can sell all this stuff and make some money later!’

  ‘What a cheap guy!’ I said sullenly. Abhi laughed and came to hug me.

  ‘Relax, you two,’ Mira said, closing her laptop and taking a sip of the lemonade I had made for her. Then she shuffled inside her handbag and pulled out a box, which she threw towards Abhi. ‘Catch!’ she yelled.

  Abhi managed to catch it just before it hit the ground and opened the box carefully. ‘A watch! Wow! But why?’

  Mira shrugged. ‘Don’t the parents deserve some TLC as well?’

  ‘In that case,’ I asked innocently, turning to Mira, ‘where’s my TLC?’

  Mira looked straight at me and then extended her arms. ‘It’s all here, Tadi. Let me give it to you. Come to Mumma!’ She made a dash towards me.

  ‘Stay away from me, you crazy woman!’ I laughed as we started tickling each other mercilessly. Abhi leaned against the sofa and picked up his coffee. ‘Watch out for RJ, you crazy Verma women!’

  Nana Nani Park. 16 April. 10 a.m.

  ‘Tadi, you know you can’t be sniffing phenyl, right? Plus, physical combat with Razia bai isn’t good either.’

  All three of us were stretched out on the grass under a clump of trees. Customarily, a few mutts had come along and sniffed us, a few vendors had tried to sell us all sorts of things and many little Milkha Singhs had used us as human hurdles, but we were determined to vegetate and take full advantage of the good weather.

  Mira was referring to my inexplicable lunge that morning at a phenyl-filled bucket manned by Razia bai, our cleaning lady. All I knew was that at that moment, I needed to smell the heavenly fluid in that bucket. After a bit of yelling, tug of war and some serious squawking from Razia, I was physically peeled away by Mira and Abhi.

  ‘I mean seriously, baby. How about craving something sweet or something sour, or even chalk or something? You’re craving phenyl?’

  ‘What can I say?’ I countered, giggling while munching on my cereal bar. ‘Baby RJ is a cleanliness freak.’

  Mira’s phone rang and I groaned as she got up to take the call.

  ‘No Mira, you’re breaking the formation,’ I protested. Abhi, still lying next to me, started muttering.

  ‘Hi. I’m Raool. I’d like to speak with Mira plis,’ he mimicked, and I burst out laughing.

  ‘I know I’m being unkind. But just look at her. I don’t know if he is a keeper and I don’t want her to get hurt,’ Abhi said.

  ‘What a protective bear.’ I rustled his hair. ‘That’s the daddy instinct brewing, I tell you.’ Again, Abhi looked like he was wearing very tight underwear and turned a slight shade of purple.

  ‘Oh alright, alright! My bad! No daddy references till the baby is out, fine?’

  Abhi shrugged. ‘Okay. Now let’s get up before people begin to wonder if we have Fevicoled ourselves to the grass.’

  Meher Villa, Pali Hill. 11:45 p.m.

  Ahmed, an old friend, had invited us for a house party and I had dragged Mira along. The house was a gorgeous duplex overlooking the sea, housed in one of the tallest buildings on Pali Hill. While most Mumbai flat views showcased the lives of surrounding neighbours, the view here presented a collage of the Bandra–Worli Sea Link and the night sky, peppered with the many surrounding twinkling lights. But more than the twinkling lights, my attention was focused on my favourite maroon skirt, which had become a little tight around the stomach, what with RJ there as a tenant. I was determined, though, to suck my breath in and make it work for the night.

  ‘Pimms for you, darling?’ This was the fifth time Ahmed had
approached me with a glass full of my favourite drink and I had sent him away politely, swishing water in my glass, trying to pass it off as vodka.

  12:10 a.m.

  The heady aroma of kebabs, biryani and various other dishes was making me feel queasy. And I could swear that my skirt had shrunk a few more inches since we had arrived.

  Abhi came to me with a plate of food, trying to furiously wave away the cigarette smoke from around me with one hand. He was about to say something when Mani joined us.

  ‘Buddy, what’s with the Bruce Lee moves?’ he laughed, grabbing Abhi’s arm in the midst of a mid-air chop. I quickly charged into the conversation.

  ‘There is just no ventilation here! By the way, you guys haven’t come over since both our holidays. We need the whole lowdown from Havelock.’

  Shoma strolled towards us. ‘Lookie here! All my favourite people together.’ She hung an arm around my neck.

  ‘So I was just telling Mani that you guys need to come over this week,’ I updated her while eyeing the plate in Abhi’s hands.

  ‘Of course we will darling … but … Tara … Taraaaa …’

  Everything slowed down … I was in a smokey dream sequence … and the last thing I heard was Yo Yo Honey Singh crooning about alcohol.

  24

  Meher Villa, Pali Hill. 17 April. 12:20 a.m.

  I woke up to see an entire court in attendance around me.

  Abhi was leaning over me, looking like he had seen a ghost. Mira was on the phone. Shoma and Mani were sitting at the foot of the bed. A modern-art rendition of the Grim Reaper was painted on the ceiling. Clearly I was I still in Ahmed’s house.

  Abhi sprang to my side as I tried to sit up, ‘Baby, are you okay?’

  I nodded, smiling weakly.

  ‘Sagar, could you please take a look at her?’ he said. I hadn’t noticed another person standing by the door. I pulled my skirt down as far as it would go.