12. Hungama Hai Kyu Barpa
“It’s just a matter of 3-4 days,” Maya said for the fifth time as they walked down his penthouse floor. He had gestured the security to his car in the parking lot, where Maya’s belongings were stuffed. It hadn’t looked like much in the her small apartment, but had packed up to a whopping 4 suitcases and 3 large cardboard boxes. He had had to drop his backseat to fit it all. And it was nearing evening by the time they were done.
“Ok,” he droned, for the fifth time to her as he opened the door to his house and stood to the side.
“Wow,” she entered with that incredulous expression that she most certainly carried for most things in life. This one, was just as genuine. And he wondered how she appreciated things she had seen all her life. She came from a wealthy family, had married into one he assumed was just as wealthy, considering it was an arranged marriage. Her parents’ home used to be in Walkeshwar all those years ago, a sea-facing upmarket area of South Bombay. She must have seen countless sunsets like these, better ones, because his penthouse didn’t exactly have a sea view.
The wall of windows in front of them was burning orange, the 12th floor not as high because the suburbs had a fly-zone radar. But it did offer good views of the swaying palm and coconut trees, smaller buildings and the sea-link in the distance.
“This is the living area as you can see,” he showed her, feeling like he was tearing a child away from a funfair when he took her from the window. “Here is the open kitchen. The bedrooms are this way. I use one for myself, and one to store my work files. You can take the third one,” he opened the door next to his and showed her the second master. It was almost as spacious as his, except the bathroom here didn’t have a fitted jacuzzi in the tub. He didn’t go into those details.
She deposited her bag on the sitting area and ran to the glass panels that opened onto the running deck.
“Can I open this?”
“Since when do you ask?”
Maya gave him a look over her shoulder. He smirked, crossing his arms across his chest — “Go ahead. We have mosquito repellents burning.”
She slid open the glass doors and stepped out, the wind instantly whipping her clothes until they stuck to her skin. And his heart somersaulted. That bump, it was clear as day. He had had a similar reaction last night when she had walked into his show’s backstage looking like a goddess in that dress. And then she had turned and her swollen front had made him rear back, as if shot.
He turned away, because that’s how good she looked. There was something stronger about her in this vulnerability, something that made her look like not just a fighter but a warrior. As if she was about to wage wars every day for the rest of her life now with her future that was to come. Gautam could respect that.
“I’ll see about those bags. You settle in, you have to take it easy anyway. We will see what to do for dinner…” he didn’t even pay heed to half of what he said as he hightailed it out of there, tearing his head away from what looked like a funfair to his eyes.
Gautam ran a hand through his hair. He had to get out of here before he got sucked into her orbit again. Quick.
————————————————————
“My cook comes once a day and makes whatever I write on the whiteboard on the kitchen. He also shops for everything needed. Now, I can ask him to come twice…”
“No,” she shook her head. “Don’t change your routine for a few days. I’ll make breakfast, lunch whatever in the morning. It sounds cheap of me to offer you a few days’ rent but I want to contribute however I can…”
He passed her the tub of fiery red bhaji with a dollop of butter floating on the top. That silenced her into serving herself. They had ordered Pav Bhaji from her ‘favourite’ Shiv Sagar hotel nearby. Apparently, all Shiv Sagars in Mumbai were different and he ‘didn't know how to differentiate yet.’ The colour of the bhaji looked angry, but he had to agree, it smelled good with the perfect buttery pav and finely chopped onions. That Juhu Pav Bhaji would always have its place, but this one looked good too.
“I can go shopping for groceries? Or order online from my account…”
“No need for that,” he asserted as she passed the tub back to him. “Let’s not make this very formal. Anyway I won’t be here for the next week.”
“Why? Where are you going?” She took a seat on the chair next to his. They sat on his dining table because that’s how he always dined. Properly.
“On a work trip,” he scooped some bhaji onto his pav and bit into it. Yes, it tasted just as good as it looked.
“Where?”
“Turkey.”
“Turkey? Is GK Textiles planning to expand internationally?”
“Not fabrics. It’s regarding something else,” he clipped. And she got the hint because she instantly changed the topic. Gautam didn’t like this version of Maya. The one in the office would have pestered him to death until he spit out.
As if his cool response had set the tone for their dinner, the topics remained impersonal. Neither he pried into her affairs, nor did she bring her sunny personality to the party. He was slowly beginning to see Maya’s leached out part. As if she glowed so bright all day outside for everyone that when she was home, her batteries opted out.
After all, even the sun needed the night to recoup.
As they cleared up the crockery and she began to wash the utensils he stopped her. “My domestic help will come and do it tomorrow morning. Just leave it all in the sink.”
She still rinsed it all.
“Maya?”
“Yes?”
He hesitated. But it had to be said.
“You can live here like it’s your own house…”
“But I do this every day at my own house,” she flicked water off her hands and wiped them on a towel. Her top bun was unravelling and she reached up to retie it, her T-shirt riding high to give him a peak of perfect, taut skin over her bump. Gautam quickly glanced up at her hands doing that mystical thing girls did that wound their hair into a knot.
“You didn’t have a domestic help?” He asked.
“Not in this house.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask why. Why was she living like this when her parents, her ex were wealthy and probably eating in silver plates right now. The veneer of her glossy personality and accessories suddenly just fell away to this struggling Mumbai girl who did things to push her life forward and wasn’t complaining.
What had gone so wrong in her life?
“I have contacted the brokers who helped me find this place,” she broke his thoughts. “They are showing me flats this week. I will be out of here before you know it. Maybe even before you come back from your trip.”
That didn’t sit well with him. If these brokers had shown her this hellhole with a landlord like that, he wouldn’t trust them with much else.
“Leave them. I have better brokers. They will get you a good place at reasonable rent.”
“I am not telling them no, but you put your guys to work too. Tell them 1-bedroom or 1-room-kitchen studio is fine. The budget is 15,000.”
That was a fraction of her salary. Where was she spending the rest of her money? On bags?
“Let’s do this — I’ll come back and arrange a meeting. Until then, you take it easy. What did your doctor say? Rest today and tomorrow. All you‘ve done is stress out and run around all day. Are you planning to go to the office day after?”
“It’s Monday…” she gave him that naughty eyebrow quirk. “And you are going. How can I miss a chance to party it up in Made in Mumbai?”
“That is why I am giving you work from home while I am away.”
She laughed, rounding the kitchen counter and standing in front of him — “I remember someone telling me ‘No Work From Home!” She did an undertaker imitation.
Gautam padded to his wide, sweeping 9-seater sofa and settled back. The dark Mumbai skyline was twinkling in the distance, looking like some dream. The sea-link was a tiny bridge of that dream in one corner, connecting the suburbs with SoBo. Two cultures that lived and died a sea apart. That reminded him.
“Your parents’ house is still in Walkeshwar?”
She settled on the sofa, a little primly, like she was a guest, which she was. But he didn’t like it. So he plucked a pillow from behind him and threw it at her. She caught it, pushed it behind her back and sighed. Her first peaceful sigh in his house.
“It is.”
“Then why not sell it and buy something here? The property rates would mean you get your own duplex this side…”
“Because my parents wouldn’t ‘help’ me walk on a bad path like that. They wouldn’t ‘take me in’ after my divorce. Not that I wanted to go. Anyway, they have rented it out now.”
“I can’t imagine people who would rent out their flat but not give it to their pregnant daughter.” Or maybe he could imagine parents like that, but not the kind he thought lived in the city, among the civilised lot. His own had been a different breed, but their thoughts were best kept chained and caged in the darkest part of his memory.
Maya shrugged, settling deeper into his sofa and putting her feet shyly up. He reached out and pulled one of her ankles. She gasped.
“Lie down if you want to. I told you, live in this house like it’s yours.”
She smiled shyly, “Thanks.” And slowly her other foot also reached up until she was comfortable. Why were these shy smiles beginning to lurch his chest? And why was he starting to hunger for them, seek them, work for them?
“Maya?”
“Hmm?”
“Nothing.”
Whatever his brain had stopped his tongue from saying was detrimental to his longterm mental health. A few more moments in her presence, and he would open old wounds, bring new salves, and maybe fall deeper into this blackhole. Yes, that’s what she was. A blackhole. Not some sun that drew you into her orbit. This side of her was a blackhole, like those witches of folk stories that tied you to their gazes with magical kohl in their eyes.
Gautam stood to his feet.
“I am really tired. You can relax here. The TV remote, Apple TV, everything is here. My flight is in the afternoon so I’ll see you tomorrow morning and introduce you to my house help and cook. Ok?”
He took steps back — “Alright. Goodnight.” He turned and strode faster, feeling his chest lighter and lighter, his mind emptier and emptier of her thoughts the farther he went from her.
“Hey, Gautam?” Her tiny voice startled him to a stop.
“Yes?”
“We won’t tell anyone in the office, no? About me staying here. I… I don’t want gossip like my landlord to go around the office.”
“Who are you scared of?” He turned bold eyes on her. She was right of course, but when had Maya ever been scared of people talking?
“I am not scared of anybody,” the firebrand retorted. “But I want to stay put at Made in Mumbai for the long haul. These kind of talks, even if for a while, won’t give me my respect for any number of my future days to come.”
He nodded. And left her there, wishing he was sitting with her too. The voices in his head were contrasting and loud. He was going crazy!