Those Pricey Thakur Girls (12 page)

‘That’s, uh, good,’ Mrs Mamta Thakur had said cautiously. ‘But you’re only human, you know, Anji. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Both your father and I feel you’re making too much of this pregnancy thing – the doctors have said, na, there’s nothing wrong with you. And Anant has fathered a child before. If you just relax, it will happen.’

‘It
won’t
.’ Anji shook her head gloomily. ‘It’s all so clear now. I spent too many years making everybody’s boyfriends fall in love with me, and now just see, Binni’s sturdy uterus has squeezed out twin babies and totally neutralized my straight nose, my delicate collarbones, my C cup breasts, my tiny waist, my thin top-of-the-knees, my peachy skin and everything.’

Seeing how upset Debjani is now looking, Mrs Mamta concludes that Anjini’s attempt at ‘goodness’ isn’t progressing too well.

Into this thickened atmosphere enters Chachiji, her bulldog-face glowing. Her every step is accompanied by a melodious
chham-chhamming
sound, causing her sister-in-law and nieces to look down at her rather horny feet clad in blue and white Bata chappals.

‘Payals!’ Dabbu exclaims. ‘How lovely, Chachiji! And so heavy! Must be expensive?’

‘AN got them for me,’ Chachiji says with a nonchalance that fools nobody. ‘Three thousand rupees.’

‘They’re gorgeous,’ Mrs Mamta remarks.

‘You should get a pedicure,’ Anjini advises.

‘He said they are a nishaani of his pyar and I should never take them off,’ Chachiji elaborates triumphantly. ‘He put them on my feet himself.’

‘You really
should
get a pedicure.’

‘Be quiet, Anji.’ Mrs Mamta frowns.

But Chachiji is talking to Dabbu. ‘The totka worked,’ she says excitedly. ‘I did it and next day only he got me these payals – and he was so
curt
to the Hot Dulari, I can’t tell you!’

‘Terrific!’ Dabbu gives her a hug.

‘I’m going shopping now.’ Chachiji gets to her feet melodiously. ‘Bye now.’ And she
chham-chhams
out of the room.

‘Can’t wait to show her new bauble to all of Hailey Road,’ Anji says sapiently. But Mrs Mamta is glaring at Dabbu.

‘She told
you
about that totka?’

Dabbu nods.

‘The nimbu and the blood… and the pubic hair?’

Anji gasps. ‘
What?
This is delicious!’

‘Yes, she did,’ Dabbu says defensively. ‘And I told her to go for it. I like Chachiji. Everyone is so mean to her – especially Ashok chacha – and I’m glad she did it because now everybody’s happy.’

Her mother shakes her head. ‘She’s a bad influence, Dabbu. She’ll fill your head with rubbish.’

‘I’m not
stupid
, Ma,’ Dabbu replies hotly.

‘Yes, but it was irresponsible of her to tell you such things,’ Mrs Mamta says, quite distressed. ‘You’re an unmarried girl – chhi.’

‘Well,
I’m
married,’ says Anji, her eyes dancing. ‘Tell me the totka again, Dubz, what was it? Blood and pubes and
nimbu
? Ugh!’

But Mrs Mamta changes the subject. ‘Where’s that Eshwari? It’s almost dark.’

‘They’ve extended the practice timings by half an hour,’ Debjani replies. ‘She’ll be back soon.’

Anjini wriggles deeper into the couch and looks speculative. ‘Are you sure she isn’t seeing someone?’

‘Pretty sure.’ The thought
has
crossed Dabbu’s mind, several times, but just out of habit perhaps, she doesn’t want to agree with Anji.

‘I never played basketball,’ Anjini muses. ‘Bauji didn’t approve of it back then.’

And
that
, Debjani thinks, is history rewritten Anjini Thakur style. You didn’t play basketball because you weren’t good enough to make it to the team. Why blame poor BJ?

‘How’s Amitabh Bose?’ Anji asks next. ‘I
love
his voice! Whenever he speaks, I feel little responsive quivers in my… um… stomach. Did he flirt with you?’

‘No,’ Dabbu replies stiffly.

Anji just stares at her, wide-eyed and uncomprehending.

‘He seemed really nice, though,’ Dabbu adds.

Anji gives a little scream of laughter. ‘He would have flirted with
me
,’ she says. ‘I would’ve made him. God, you’re such a
nun –
Dubz the Demure. When is your supta vastha going to end? You’re almost a year overdue!’

Debjani glowers.

‘These jeans are really comfy!’Anjini says next, tucking her knees up under her chin. ‘But like I said, loose.’

‘They’re made of a new kind of material,’ Debjani explains. ‘It stretches.’

Anjini pulls a face. ‘Still! Not bad for me, right? I’m the mother of a twelve-year-old!’

‘He’s not your
biological
child,’ Debjani points out.

‘Don’t say that,’ Anjini hisses immediately, her head whipping around, looking for Samar. ‘He’s really sensitive.’

‘He’s outside, didi, relax. So, should I unpack for you? Pull out something for you to wear?’

Anjini’s face clouds over. Her lower lip trembles. She says, her voice rising to a higher pitch with every word, ‘You’d
think
, when you come to your mother’s house after so long, that your sister could share her
jeans
with you.’

Debjani hastily tries to stem the flow. ‘Anji didi, it’s okay, just wear them –’

But Anjini has got to her feet.

‘Ma!’

‘What, beta?’

‘Can you give me a track pant or something? Dabbu doesn’t want me to wear her jeans!’

Mrs Mamta turns harassed eyes upon Debjani.

‘Dabbu?’

‘Ma, I never said –’

‘I thought she wouldn’t mind because all she ever wears are those stupid shorts she cuts up! No, Ma, don’t shout at her. She’s all messed up because of the
India Post
article. I understand. She has to take it out on
someone
.’

And leaving Debjani open-mouthed, Anjini flounces over to the music system and starts to look through Dabbu’s and Eshu’s carefully arranged collection of cassettes and records. ‘Don’t you have any Abba LPs?’ she sniffs. ‘Or The Seekers? Or Cliff Richards? What is this Bryan Adams? And Dire Straits? And
Wham
? Is that even a band? This man looks pukka gay.’

Eshwari, who has just entered the room, leaps to the defence of her beloved George Michael. ‘He is
not
gay,’ she declares hotly.

‘I can tell,’ says Anji expertly. She points a perfectly manicured finger at the two smooth-faced men with plucked black eyebrows on the
Wham – Fantastic
cover. ‘This one’s the chick, this one’s the man. So how are you, Chabbu? And how come that bunch of amaltas? Who gave them to you?’

‘My nephew,’ Eshwari says. ‘He was waiting for me at the gate.’

Debjani watches sourly as Anji clucks over Eshwari, frowning at her stained T-shirt, approving of her fringe, asking about her love life. While chattering away, she also manages to unbuckle Eshwari’s school belt and clip it around her waist. ‘It fits,’ she says smugly. ‘Dekha? I didn’t have to loosen it at all.’

Eshwari, catching the stormy expression on Dabbu’s face, hurries over to her as soon as she can. ‘How’d it go with the harami?’ she whispers. ‘You still think his butt is cute?’

‘Oh, what does it matter,’ Debjani whispers back petulantly. ‘Now that Anji didi has come, the world will revolve around
her
again, and we’ll have to listen to bloody Abba for the next seven days and get non-stop unsolicited advice, and be told that all our choices – whether it’s music, clothes, men or movies –
suck
.’

Eshwari giggles. ‘Do you think the harami will hit on Anji didi? Everybody does.’

Debjani feels a surge of irritation. It’s all a joke for you, isn’t it, Eshu, she thinks. While for me it’s – it’s what? she asks herself, appalled. Serious?

‘Where’s Samar?’ Anjini demands suddenly.

‘Playing with the puppies,’ the Judge says, entering the room. ‘He’s talking of adopting one.’

Anjini rolls her pretty eyes. ‘Uff! Why are there so many laindi dogs outside the gate? And such ugly ones too! It makes our gate look really lower middle class. Bauji, shall I call the MCD office – that Sharma uncle was so fond of me, remember – and tell them to send some workers to take them away?’

‘Don’t you
dare
,’ Debjani hisses, jumping up.

Anjini turns around, raising her delicately arched eyebrows. ‘Oh, are they
your
laindis? Arrey, sorry, Dabburam, how about we get that big naked one fixed at least? The procedure’s quite painless, I believe.’

‘No messing with that dog’s balls!’ the Judge roars suddenly, making everybody jump. ‘What is a male without his manhood, huh? He’ll turn into a wimp and be killed in a dog fight before the week is out! Besides, it’ll be too expensive.’

‘Oh no, Bauji,’ Anjini says. ‘It’s not very expensive at all!’

‘You’re quite the expert, I see,’ the Judge snorts. ‘You women just like to emasculate all your men, and that’s the truth. You want us to curl up and purr and talk to you about crochet patterns and Princess Diana’s pregnancy and what not! Well, nobody’s going to touch Moti’s gotis on my watch. Is that clear?’

Anji’s nostrils flare. ‘What are you trying to insinuate exactly?’ she says, the colour in her cheeks suddenly hectic. ‘That because I can’t have childre –’

‘Arrey, no no.’ Mrs Mamta goes over to her quickly. ‘Of course not, Anji, don’t be so sensitive!’

‘Just leave that poor dog alone,’ the Judge growls.

An awkward silence falls.

Finally Anji says, with artificial brightness, ‘Uff, really
,
I miss you girls so much and when I come you just sulk at me about everything! Your mongrels will stay unfixed, Dabbu. And Chabbu, that Georgie Porgie is not gay. Happy?’

That evening, there is an indefinite power cut and a lively family circle forms on the terrace. The girls carry rolled-up gaddas up the stairs, a glass bottle filled with fridge-cold water to dampen them with, packets of potato wafers and a blender full of cold coffee. Even the Judge promises to come up upstairs presently and appreciate the blooming amaltas.

‘There’s a gym in our colony now,’ Anjini announces, flopping down on the gaddas once Eshwari has sprinkled them well. ‘I’ve joined. The owner begged me to – everybody follows my lead, na. And now Rocky Singh the instructor ignores everybody else and just gives tips to
me
. It’s so embarrassing. Do you know what he said to me yesterday?’

Dabbu is fairly sure nobody said ‘what’ but Anjini provides the answer anyway.

‘Ki Mrs Singh, is that new newsreader on TV your elder sister? She looks so much like you!’ She screams with laughter.

‘It’s probably the juvenile behaviour,’ Eshwari quickly murmurs into Debjani’s indignant ear. ‘Makes her look younger than you.’

Dabbu gives a snort of laughter.

‘What, what?’ Anji looks hurt. ‘What did you say? You girls have so many secrets. It’s not fair.’

‘Nothing,’ Eshwari says, turning up the radio. ‘I’m trying to tune in to Yuvvani for
A-Date-With-You
. But the static’s terrible.’

‘Expecting a request?’ Anjini says knowingly. ‘
Basketball babe in the Number 10 shirt, without you my life is dirt!
’

‘More like
Kot-piece queen, I love you so, our boring dads will never know
!’ Eshwari murmurs. Debjani gives her a dirty look.

Anjini pricks up her ears instantly. ‘What’s this? What’s this?’ she says, delighted. ‘Somebody’s crushing on Dabbu?’

‘No!’ Debjani shakes her head vehemently.

‘So lucky,’ Anjini sighs. ‘You’ll probably have a love marriage. Not like me, bundled off to the first bakra on the block.’

Mrs Mamta frowns. ‘That’s not right, Anjini. You chose Anant yourself – such a handsome boy.’

‘But I wanted to have a career first!’ Anjini protests. Her voice becomes wistful. ‘I wanted to be an airhostess with Indian Airlines. You know, travel the world, meet new people.’

‘Binni didi says you just wanted to meet the Prime Minister,’ Debjani remarks. ‘I mean the now-ka-Prime Minister. That your favourite fantasy was sashaying into the cabin, bending over and breathlessly asking,
What can I get you, captain?
’

Anji doesn’t get angry. Instead, she smiles secretively.

‘I’d have hooked him if I’d met him,’ she says, as though stating a simple fact. ‘I’m prettier than the wife – definitely.’

There is silence.

Whatever happened, wonders Mrs Mamta wearily, to being good?

‘I think Antu’s having an affair,’ Anjini says next with relish.

Mrs Mamta sighs. Eshwari smothers a yawn. Why does she pretend she wants to talk about
me
, Debjani thinks, nettled, when all she really wants to do is talk about
herself
?

‘Antu bhaiyya’s not the affair types,’ Eshwari offers comfortingly. ‘He’s probably just overworked or something.’

‘Fat lot
you
know, Chubs.’ Anjini immediately takes offence. ‘The girls in his office all dote on him. Actually,’ her voice grows speculative, ‘I wouldn’t mind if he
had
an affair, it might spice up our marriage...’