The Benefit Season (11 page)

I turn the shower on and stand under it and
motion with my hands as if I am rubbing soap, faking a grin to show
that its going to be an enjoyable experience. I grab a towel off
the stand and step out, while the girl laughs on seeing me
dripping. She runs away to explain to the other girls similarly
trapped in the other bathrooms how it’s to be done.

I go back to the much-needed sleep on the
couch till a girl wakes me up again. The sun has already climbed
above the rooftops and is now sending its harsh glare inside the
apartment. There is a delicious smell pervading the house, and the
smiling girl is holding up a plate with a stack of golden paranthas
with dollops of yellow salted butter skidding merrily on the top
row. The girls couldn’t figure out the bathroom contraptions but
with innate matronly instincts needed no help with the cooking
range; machinery that so baffles me even today. I take the plate to
the dining table and ask the two youngest born, who are eating on
the floor, to join me. The kitchen is become a joyful area of
crackling spices, fried onions and rolls of stuffed dough being
slapped into a sizzling pan. And plenty of greasy smoke. I push my
chair and show Mrs. Chand how to flick the exhaust on. She is
delighted when the grease and smoke is sucked out in seconds. After
tucking away dozens of the golden crispies downed with jarfuls of
full-cream milk, we haul ourselves down to the waiting cab and away
to the fields.

ϖ

My twin shades are waiting
at the gates as we arrive, and after garlanding all of us with some
form of imaginary IDs, they lead the thrilled procession into the
press galleries, which, save a few punters busy taking orders from
the
Bhai
in Dubai,
are empty. The shades have picked up the complimentary passes from
an ex-manager for 3 G’s each.

The shady escort on my left whispers as I
dig an elbow in his ample side to draw his attention to the loud
punter in front of us; ‘We fix games to avoid unnecessary stress to
the viewers. Indians get overly emotional about the game. It’s so
much easier for everyone once the results are already known’.

Cricket is not my thing- I’m not much of a
gambler. It’s like baseball on sedatives and I never know if
they’ve begun or are still discussing the weather, or the toss or
the pitch. But Mukut is different. He plays cricket like football-
nimble on his feet and always on the attack. He is a born belter,
charging at the balls, converting full-lengths into half volleys,
and smiting every ruddy abomination into the nets, leaving the
spinners, the seamers, and the swingers at sea without a rudder.
Leg breakers, off breakers, leg cutters, Yorkers- all are just so
many words to him, and his bat connects with a sweet smack with
each one of them without prejudice or a care in the world. The
wicket keeper is picking his teeth since not a single ball is
allowed his way. I don’t know much about the game but it seems
nothing bad can happen to the team on whose side our man is
playing. Even his leg glances will find boundaries where there are
none, and I’m sure the man wouldn’t notice if you slipped a TT
racket into his hand and asked him to bat. Monal has chosen wisely;
once again I bow to her knack of spotting a winner.

Soon it’s drinks time and the players return
to the stands. The Chand belles rise and go hysteric welcoming
their men home. Uncle Chand looks up in surprise at the ruckus in
the galleries. As he draws closer he recognizes his lost brood and
halts frozen at the spot. Then, as fast as his chubby legs can
carry his portly frame he gallops across the greens, and is
reunited in a tearful embrace with the family that he had given up
to vicious bondage merely to keep a word of honor. After they have
quieted down, the Chands recount the events that have unfolded over
the last few hours. Uncle Chand looks across at me sitting in the
galleries, and I nod. He nods back and clinging to his family walks
into the enclosure. He folds his hands and grasps me in a tight
embrace, patting my back several times; his body racked by sobs. He
cannot speak but I know what he wants to say. Words are a burden at
this moment. Mukut waits for his uncle to break his hold and then
comes and hugs me warmly. He holds my hands and says a simple,
‘thank you’. It is enough.

‘
Take your time. We will
talk later. Right now, you can take your family home. A cab is
waiting outside for you. And lastly, here are your property papers-
every last scrap of them’. I dig their documents out of my satchel
and hand them over; texts- simple, brief and handwritten, yet
precious proofs of the reclamation of their lands, their family
honor and name, and their liberty.

I fold my hands and extricate myself gently
along with the shades from the touching scene. Freedom is indeed an
irony; those that know not bondage, will care little for the sweet
sense of liberation.

Later, when uncle, profuse with gratitude,
invites me to his new home, we sign the contracts Monal would have
given her right arm for.

ϖ

Chapter
6

The Benefits

My phone gives a buzz and a nerdy voice full
of self-doubt on the other end informs me that the boss is
remembering me; and it’s not Monal, by the way, it’s her
husband.

I’d nearly forgotten that Monal did own one.
Not a boss, a husband.

I skid sideways on the shiny floor avoiding
the tall girl with the sheaf of papers and knock and enter. Monal
is sharpening her nails on a grindstone while her husband is
cutting a hole in the floor with a thin jet of thunderbolts
streaming from his eyes. He smokes and seems listless, for his leg
shakes uncontrollably. I notice a slight tremor as he jabs the
cigarette in an ashtray and rises to briefly take my hand.

He taps me playfully on the shoulder and
says, ‘you are the man’. He avoids my eyes and lights up again,
motioning me to a sofa next to him.

‘
I like what I heard about
what happened back in the village’, he says.

Monal smiles at him and
shrugs a, “
I told you so.”

‘
You’ll get a handsome
bonus for this.’ She tells me; ’and a car and a new apartment all
to yourself; like I’d promised’.

‘
This is all too sudden
for me’, I say.

I don’t want to leave my roommates; I’ve
grown fond of them. And I can’t cook! And I’m pretty happy with
what I’m getting. They give me a 3% commission on the earnings
brought in by my existing clients, and that’s way more than enough
for me. I’m a simple man with simple needs and I can stretch a
couple of thousands a long way. And I hate driving through the
Mumbai traffic- I prefer the office cab, or my feet if the air is
cool and the clouds dark.

I nearly say no, but then think of what
Aarti or my mom will have to say about it. I will have to hear
lectures on ambition and fire in the belly for days to come. And
Mr. Khosla will chase his daughter, shaking a knotty finger and
repeating; ‘see I told you so- the boy just doesn’t have it in him.
You have fallen in love with a Mahatma Gandhi’.

‘
Are you saying a
no
to me? What’s too
sudden? You can’t handle a raise?’ Monal is flustered.

‘
No ma’am…err, I meant
this is beyond my expectations- I don’t know how to thank you
enough’, I mutter.

‘
You just did’, she says,
relieved.

So now I get to do my own housekeeping,
drive my own car, lose my cherished friendships, and live all by
myself in a strange apartment in a city that doesn’t care. And I’m
supposed to be grateful for all that. Well, that’s promotion for
you- all lonely. I abhor the thought of staying alone. I am a
social animal, and I need as many animals as possible to smother me
with their society. This day itself I intend asking Aarti about
planning the wedding.

A thought crosses the mind of asking mom to
stay with me. But that would be too selfish- asking mama to mother
you at this age- robbing her of her comfort zone in which she has a
cozy circle of friends, relatives, kitty parties and gardening.
Plucking her out of her full life and dumping her in this
unfriendly city with nothing to do except stare at the sea and wait
for the son to get home from work would be cruelty to a senior
citizen- a very dear senior citizen. She would come away without a
murmur but would be miserable here: I dismiss the thought. She’s
happy with my calling her and reporting to her of my status every
hour- that would do for the moment. Let the happy status quo be
maintained. It’s for the good of all parties concerned.

‘
So the kid will do as we
say?’ Vishal repeats edgily while I am lost in thought; bringing me
back to the chilled room.

‘
All he does is whack the
ball. He can pretty much do that and you won’t have to ask him to
do that’, I tell him.

‘
No, no: other than that.
On and off the field I mean’.

‘
We have a contract that
says so. The legal team drew it up. I can’t say if they left out
anything. I have submitted it to ma’am already’.

‘
This is India. Anyone who
thinks a contract will save him is fooling only himself. To enforce
a contract here you need a court and about 20 years and a hungry
team of lawyers that will bleed you dry. No, I am not talking of
contracts here.’

I don’t understand and give him a blank
look.

‘
He’s so naïve; is he’, he
turns to Monal and asks. ‘You haven’t trained our boy
yet’.

‘
Does he swing? Will he
swing?’ he asks me.

‘
I think he’s known for
his strikes. Can’t say for his bowling’.

They both laugh.

‘
Don’t rush him yet’,
Monal says.

‘
Alright’, he says and
rises. We all rise after him. ‘How is he for money?’

‘
Has more than what he
needs right now. And now that we’ve freed his lands and relieved
him of his debts, he doesn’t have a care in the world’.

‘
That’s not good for us;
greed is good for us. We need hungry people who’ll go the extra
mile to get to the next level of coveting and possessing. That’s
what fills our coffers boy, and that’s what keeps us slaving
through life; ignoring our families, our health and the voices
inside.’

I lie, ‘I get it sir’; not at all getting
what he’s at. Those said things are the most important. And if I’ve
read the Chands well, they’re anything but unlike me.

‘
He has daughters, plenty
of them’, Monal says.

‘
There you are. They’ll
need to get married one day. A cause; all we need is a cause. Work
on him boy, sow in him the seeds of want and need. Learn unto him
the merry tinkle of silver and the happy rustle of cash.
‘

‘
I will sir, I will’, I
say emphatically, trying to convince myself more than anyone
else.

ϖ

Why do I get the feeling
that I am getting special treatment? A wide-bodied
Assistant-Manager pops his head into my cabin- now I have one- and
asks if I would like to see my new apartment now. He has a narrow
head, a thick neck and is built like a wrestler from waist-up. His
small hips, spindly legs indicate he is yet to work his way below
his waist.

‘
Monal’s orders’, he
explains.

‘
That really leaves us
with no choice’. I drop the portfolio I am about to begin work on
and leave with him.

It’s just another apartment really, from the
multitudes in the concrete tapestry of a steamy, moldy, and wheezy
city: an apartment lonelier than the rest perhaps. It is a
functional place, without any remarkable trappings of success, for
a bachelor to pass the bleak, long days. Neither an item that
doesn’t carry a meaning is in the house, nor is one without. It’s
cold and unwelcoming. It’s empty and meaningless. It’s stark and
naked.

Clothing warm from fresh ironing, a newly
watered potted plant by the misty window, children yelling on their
way down the stairs with bats and pads hung over their elbows, and
the warm embrace of kitchen smells as you unlock the door would add
some life and color to the flat.

‘
It’s beautiful- I love
it’, I tell the half-cocked Rocky.

His ironed face crinkles into a grin.

He says, ‘wow man! What you did back there
in UP – you are a hero’.

‘
You’d be surprised at who
pulled me through- a couple of emaciated, shrunken women; but what
spirit- what a rarity these days’.

Tossing the keys into my outstretched hand
he bundles down the stairs- three at a time- as fast as his spindly
legs can carry their massive super-frame.

‘
Monal doesn’t think so’,
he shouts back before slamming the door. ‘She thinks you are the
one with it- the spirit’!

ϖ

I haul my “spirit” over to the house to
nurse it with a carton of cold milk while I sit in the balcony
watching over the Arabian Sea churning up in the monsoons. The
skies seem to have crashed down and the black clouds hover directly
above the waves as the sea heaves up to embrace them. The wind
works up a whistling fury, lashing the mainland with a thick,
moving blanket of showers.

A tempest is upon us.

Today is Lily’s birthday.

Having been smothered
during my growing years in the warm bosoms of the single mother and
a bevy of her sisters and cousins of varying degrees of separation,
I am very vigilant in the application of protocol during such
cataclysmic events. Just to take no chances; that of Lele
remembering his part in ordering the bouquets of her favorite color
pink, I have ordered them myself, for I know that she is precocious
and sensitive and needs to be touched and loved and Lele is not
going to come forward and give her all that and this day she is
going to feel hurt- very badly. I don’t know why, when two people
as special as my two friends who are so obviously in love, don’t
reach out and grab one another with both hands and never let go.
She hesitates because she’s afraid of rejection and he because he’s
afraid of commitment. So to ease matters for the dillydallies I, as
the well-meaning matchmaker have ordered for bouquets of hot pink
gerberas, light pink alstroemerias and green hypericums in clear
fluted vases with pink ribbons- about a dozen of them. Our small
apartment is awash in a riot of pinks, whites and greens, and all
is well. I am sure Lele will also not bother to take her out to
dinner to a decent place and make her feel special, so that part
too I shall have to cater to. I have reservations this evening
at
The Zodiac Grill
for four- Aarti included of course- after which I intend to
show off to her my new apartment where later, when we are united in
holy matrimony: she may seek wool and flax, work with willing
hands, submit unto me, give me authority over her body, keep the
fires roaring in my hearth and loins, raise my children, and keep
my house.