After dinner, her mother went to sleep in the bedroom. Simi laid her mattress on the floor in front of the TV. She loved sleeping in front of the TV. She watched TV shows till she couldn’t keep her eyes open and then she slept. This way, she didn’t have to entertain her thoughts.
Simi only watched American shows. Her favorite was The Practice — a gripping drama about lawyers at an American law firm, along with some other shows on the Fox Crime channel.
While she was watching Lindsay Dole, the feisty lawyer from the show, Simi remembered Tia. Lindsay Dole reminded Simi of Tia. Just like her character Tia was focused, a go-getter, an independent woman. Simi imagined Tia having a posh office and house just like Lindsay. Maybe Tia’s man even looked like Lindsay Dole’s boyfriend on the show, Bobby Donnell. Simi knew that Tia was dating some guy in L.A.
Maybe he looks like Bobby Donnell, or who’s the actor … umm … Dylan McDermott!
Simi got goosebumps thinking about the blue-eyed Bobby Donnell. She had a massive crush on him, but he was clearly out of her league.
Wouldn’t it be fun if Tia married a hunk like Bobby Donnell?
As she was relishing that thought, another came to her mind.
But what about you, Simi?
Simi suddenly felt like she had no control over her own thoughts.
What about me? Oh, don’t worry about me. I am never leaving Mom alone. If I ever get married, the guy will have to agree to live with us.
Simi couldn’t deny that she would have liked to make lots of money like Tia. Be independent, like Tia. Be an adult, like Tia. After all, Tia was the only high achiever she knew. She wanted to ask Tia so many questions, like how is it to live away from home? In America? Did she ever miss them, Mom and her? But whenever they spoke over the phone or on Skype, they would talk generally — although even that was an improvement over earlier times when there was no communication between them at all.
Now, she was at least cordial with her sister when they spoke, mostly by Skype. They didn’t have the huggy, sappy, touchy-feely kind of relationship some sisters have, but they had closeness because they had been apart from each other for so long. Weird, but maybe it was because of the physical distance between them that in the last couple of years they had become more like two adult friends. What no one would have guessed was that Tia missed her sibling or that Simi wanted and needed a sister in her life.
By midnight, Simi was just about to go to sleep when Namit called. Her phone rang loudly. Shit, she had forgotten to put it on silent.
‘Who is it, beta? Who is calling you so late?’ her mother asked from the bedroom, as if on cue.
If there was an earthquake her mother would sleep through it, but she had a hawk-eye and the ear of an owl when it came to Simi.
‘It’s Sharmila, Mom,’ Simi lied as she whispered ‘Hi’ into the phone.
‘Yaar, the bloody window cost ten thousand to fix,’ Namit told her getting straight to the point.
‘Ten thousand?’ Simi whispered again.
‘Usually they have the China-made glass but they are out of stock so they put in an original one,’ Namit explained.
She knew why he was explaining, the cheap bastard.
‘OK. Is it all right if I give you the money in a day or two?’ Simi asked.
‘Yeah, OK. I wouldn’t ask Simi, but, I … I …’ Namit couldn’t even think of an excuse.
Fattu! Namit was no Bobby Donnell.
‘It is OK, I’ll pay you,’ Simi said even though she had no idea how she would find the money.
‘So, what are you wearing?’ Namit asked, venturing into dangerous territory after taking care of the window business.
‘Kya?’ Simi heard him all right; she had to look down to see what she was wearing — an old salwar-kameez.
‘A nightie,’ she lied.
‘A nightie? What color is it?’ Namit sounded excited.
Simi looked around and decided on ‘black’.
She could hear Namit getting aroused. ‘What else?’ he panted.
‘What else what?’ Simi smiled as she asked.
‘What else are you wearing?’ Namit tried a deeper, sexier voice.
At this point Simi could easily have hooked him and taken him on an erotic journey, but that was too much effort and and would be deceitful. She neither had the patience nor the inclination.
‘Namit, I am off to sleep now.’
He sent her disgusting wet kisses over the phone and then hung up.
Where am I going to get ten thousand rupees?
The next day, Simi tried to ask Sharmila when she met her at Costa Coffee. Sharmila was Simi’s best friend. She belonged to an ultra-rich industrialist family and she always liked to meet at these kind of cafes. Simi hated them. A cup of coffee cost an exorbitant two hundred and fifty rupees. She reckoned her mom made better coffee and so she always ended up ordering what she couldn’t get at home, like a Peach-Apple Frappe, which defeated the purpose because it was three hundred and fifty rupees, but to her middle-class senses it felt like a better deal. As they sat down, Sharmila started asking her about Namit.
‘So, how was it?’ she asked excitedly.
‘It was awesome, yaar. I never thought it would be such a … spiritual experience!’ Simi lied through her teeth.
‘Really? You are lucky, yaar. Mine was, I don’t even remember, I was so drunk!’ Sharmila stressed how intoxicated she was. Sharmila had a reputation amongst the boys. She would call herself a slut if she didn’t know better.
Simi changed the topic.
‘Achcha, sun na. Yaar, I need some money. I’ll pay you back?’
Without asking any questions, Sharmila dug into her purse and handed Simi about one thousand rupees.
‘That’s all I am allowed to carry in cash,’ she told Simi.
Helping someone with money makes people think they are being gallant, particularly in small towns like Nagpur.
‘I needed about ten thousand!’ Simi said disappointedly.
‘Ten thousand? Abortion karana hai kya?’ Sharmila thought it was funny that Simi might have wanted the money for an abortion. There was a rumor that Sharmila had had one last year when she was in Australia where her elder sister was a doctor. Simi had never brought it up with her. In Nagpur it didn’t matter how strong a friendship was, some things were not discussed beyond family. Simi knew that.
‘Nahi, yaar. Just some emergency.’ Simi wanted this meeting to end now. She hated asking people favors.
Sharmila showed Simi a credit card.
‘My mom is a freak, man. If I ask for anything more than one thousand rupees from her she thinks it is for an abortion. She seems to think I am going to need one,’ Sharmila said with a straight face. ‘This way she can keep track of my expenses,’ she continued. ‘Man, I can’t wait to get away from this small-town mentality you know.’
Simi returned Sharmila’s one thousand rupees. Simi always thought of her as a sweet but confused girl. Sharmila had everything going for her but she was determined to be a rebel, a slut. For a moment, Simi wondered if she could be a slut.
Oh, who are you kidding. You are not even a proper woman yet, Simi.
The next person Simi tried was Shabnam at work, who told her she wished she could help her, but it was a no. Simi wondered if she should ask for an advance from Mr. Khanna. Shabnam vehemently discouraged her.
‘Last year, I asked Mr. Khanna for an advance of twenty thousand and you know what? He asked me to go to Goa for that “travel agents conference”, you remember?’ she said in a hushed voice. ‘That’s when it all started between him and me. There was no conference in Goa. Simi, I don’t think you want to be in my position!’
‘Did you return the money to him?’ Simi asked out of curiosity and to figure out how arrangements like that worked.
‘He can’t get both, right?’ Shabnam smiled. ‘Now, he is never going to get the money back and he knows it!’
Shabnam was right; Simi didn’t want to be in her position
.
‘Your mom can’t help?’ Shabnam asked as she put on some lipstick.
‘I can’t ask her. She is on a fixed income. Papa’s pension is just enough to run the house.’
Simi regretted it as soon as she said it. She didn’t like discussing her domestic situation so openly. Whatever money her mother was getting from her father’s pension was not enough. Simi had some money in her account, but she was saving it for getting an exhaust cooler installed. The summer was still months away but installing the cooler was her part of the household expenses. And this summer, she had resolved not to let her mother sleep in pressure cooker-type conditions, which was what their house was like in Nagpur’s infamous hot months.
‘Why don’t you ask your sister? Voh toh chaap rahi hogi vaha America mein?’ Shabnam casually asked Simi.
It irritated Simi no end that virtually everyone in Nagpur thought that Tia — whom they assumed was a millionaire just by the virtue of her being in America — was contributing towards Simi’s household expenses. It couldn’t have been further from the truth. Neither Simi nor her mother had a clue as to how much or how little money Tia was making. Many times she had — in the beginning — suggested an arrangement whereby she would send some money to them monthly, but her mother had refused any help from her.
She had also warned Simi against asking for any help from Tia. In fact her mother had even asked her not to speak to Tia, but in last three years she had relented. Whenever Simi and Tia talked via Skype her mother would linger in the background, just outside the view of Simi’s webcam. She would even steal a glimpse of Tia. But she was so stubborn — just like her daughter — that even after an intervention by Simi along the lines of: ‘Why can’t you forget the past and just get along?’ her mother never tried.
‘She’s the one who left us so arrogantly. She doesn’t need us and so we don’t need her!’
With no other options, Simi was seriously considering asking Tia for the ten thousand rupees. Just this once, she thought to herself. Namit had texted her a few times already today. It was two p.m. and, after much consideration, Simi texted her sister:
Didi, let’s Skype soon. Urgent. What time? Urgent. Luv, Simi.
And then she waited.
With the slide of the Rupee against the U.S. dollar, ten thousand divided by sixty — which was the current exchange rate — would be roughly one hundred and sixty-seven dollars. That should be peanuts for Tia. Simi prayed that her sister wouldn’t have to go to any trouble to loan her the money. She was sure Tia would ask her why she wanted it and Simi decided that instead of lying, she was going to just tell her the truth. This was her chance — although Simi was not vindictive — to make Tia feel for her.
Early morning — Los Angeles
Tia brought a pair of scissors and the newspaper onto her balcony and sat down. She took the coupons page of the newspaper and methodically cut out each one that was on her grocery list. She estimated that this was saving her two hundred dollars a month. Tia knew that almost everyone used coupons for their groceries, but she was slightly embarrassed about doing it herself. If she saw someone she knew in the checkout line, she would rather pay the full price. This was after holding up the queue for so long as a cashier scanned her thirty-odd coupons when there was a girl from her office in the line. She had not smiled back when Tia acknowledged her. Another time — when she had gone grocery shopping with Hari’s mother — she resisted the urge to use coupons; she didn’t want her soon-to-be mother-in-law to think less of her, as if she was a scrounger.
Tia poured herself a cup of coffee from the cappuccino machine she had purchased last year. It was on sale. Tia had gradually done up her apartment to look and feel modern. It was her plan to live there after she got married and although she hadn’t shared this plan with Hari, somehow she knew she had to convince him that there was no way she was going to live with his parents. They need not; they were in America.
Tia did not, by any stretch of the imagination, live like a scrounger. In fact, her weakness was shopping for clothes and shoes. She had racked up quite a bit of debt on her credit card. Her high balance in dues owed was one of the things she was afraid of sharing with Hari. She didn’t want him to think of her as either high-maintenance or a spendthrift. She did feel guilty about her debt. However, Tia had no idea that Hari was also reckless with his credit card expenditure. For years, his father had been paying his bills. Hari had simply chosen not to feel guilty about it.
But that morning Tia felt an almost superstitious need to feel gratitude, so she cut an inspiring gratitude chart out from the spiritual section of the newspaper:
She saved it to stick in her journal. Of course she didn’t read it all there and then but scanned it onto her phone and set a reminder to look at it again later. She had a much more pressing matter to handle this morning.
After an hour’s drive
Tia reached the Malibu West Beach Club — her top choice for the engagement ceremony venue. As she parked her car, she noticed Hari dozing off in the passenger seat. She had, of course, dragged him along — it was vital that he was part of her decision-making and the venue was one of the most important choices after their outfits, the menu, the guest list and the …
Oh God! How am I going to do all this on my own?
She hit him lightly on his thigh. He woke up.
‘Have you been sleeping all this time, Hari?’
‘No, no! What’s up?’ Hari straightened himself up, wiping the saliva from his mouth.
‘You didn’t hear a single thing I said in the past hour, did you?’
‘No, no … I heard that you wanted a pink-themed … thematically pink …’ Hari searched for correct words.
‘That’s the first thing I said when you got into the car an hour ago. And the color is champagne pink.’ She helped Hari clean himself up, straightening his hair.
When they entered the gorgeous beachfront venue Mr. Belvedere, the property manager greeted them. Tia started to enquire about her booking.
‘I am afraid you’ll have to speak to the event planner Minto…
Hari suddenly laughed out loud.
Both Tia and Mr. Belvedere — who looked as if his lifetime quota of smiles was running out — glared at Hari.
‘Minto? Sorry, is that his …?’
‘Yes, that’s his real name. And may I also inform you Sir — and Madam — that he is one of the best event planners in the whole of California.’
‘Yes, yes. We want Mr. Minto then,’ Tia said eagerly.
‘As I said, he handles all the bookings and has the authority to make reservations. But he is in France until next week.’
‘Can we at least see the property?’ Tia asked.
‘I am afraid it won’t be possible. It’s against the club policy. You’ll just have to wait until Mr. Minto is back.’
Mr. Belvedere, without relaxing the stiffness of his stance, motioned towards an associate who immediately came running over to them.
‘He’ll show you to your car.’
Tia was already in love with the property and was disappointed that she couldn’t see it.
‘That’s it, Hari. We are going to have our engagement here,’ she announced.
‘Great, but don’t you want to wait until Mr. Minto shows you the whole place?’ Hari asked with as much enthusiasm as a fossil rock, and mocking Belvedere’s accent when he said ‘Mr. Minto’.
Tia came closer to Hari and whispered in his ear. ‘Sources tell me that Jennifer and Brad got married here. Secretly, of course.’
Hari looked at her like she was someone else. Which was not entirely wrong. Tia turned into a different personalities when it came to planning her engagement and wedding ceremonies — all of them hyper.
‘First of all, why are you whispering? Secondly, you know Brad left Jennifer right?’ Hari stated.
‘That’s a misrepresentation. It was Jen who left him.’
They argued in the parking lot about whether the venue was sui
table, until Tia put her foot down.
‘Listen, Hari Malhotra, this is where you and me are going to get engaged, and that’s decided. Whether or not you want to show up on the day is up to you!’
‘You look damn sexy when you are possessed. I was just messing with you. I don’t care for any particular venue’
‘Why don’t you care about these things, Hari?’ Tia was breathing fire and was close to tears.
He was not sure if the possibility of such a beautiful venue was making her hyperventilate or what.
‘Tia, Tia … I am agreeing with you. Don’t tell me you are going to cry.’
‘Look Hari, I took the day off from work. We still have to go and decide on our outfits. There’s still an issue with the guest list … and … and …’
‘Shh, don’t worry. Give me the keys. I’ll drive. We’ll get everything done, OK?’
Hari hugged Tia and she slowly calmed down. He hugged her more than usual because he didn’t want her to start crying, that could be a two-hour process to bring her back to normal.
Their next stop was to Macy’s to look for her evening gown and a tuxedo for him for the engagement ceremony. For Hari, it was a nightmare. Tia, on the other hand, was giddy and excited. She was twirling around in dozens of dresses asking Hari for his opinion. They all looked same to him. So he used generic phrases that neither encouraged nor discouraged her.
‘Spectacular, but you think it’s worth you?’
‘I think for the price range, this one is the best buy. But do you really want to select the dress based on price?’
By the nineteenth dress he was having fun and had already decided what to say before Tia came out of the changing room each time.
‘This is the one. The … the work on it is so detailed, but then again, do you want a simple, elegant one?’
‘I couldn’t have designed this any better, the only thing is your figure is better than the cut on the dress.’
‘You want to wear a cream-colored dress? Your call is all I am going to say.’
When Hari Met His Saali Page 6