Made in Mumbai

13. Dil-E-Nadaan Tujhe Hua Kya Hai

There was something wrong with him. Or his head. Initially, distance from Maya had made it work properly. But then, even the distance of a whole continent between them hadn’t been able to empty his head of her thoughts. Throughout his meetings, market visits, team building… through his lonely hotel nights in Istanbul, through dinners, sightseeing, even bathing — he had thought about her. In 3 days, he had probably taken her name 3000 times in his head. And contacted her only 3 times.

That had been the limit he had placed on himself — one per day. For the first two days he had just texted her, polite and courteous — ‘How are you? Do you have everything you need at the house?’

The third day, he had hovered over the text box for a few seconds, aiming to write a similar message in different words. Then he had gone ahead and pressed the call button.

“Gautam?” Her surprised voice had sounded, engaging him on the second ring. “Is everything ok with you?”

He had laughed. “I called to ask if my house was still standing.”

“The fire brigade just asked me for your insurance guy’s number…”

“Maya?”

She had sputtered into a sweet, tinkling laugh. The woman couldn’t keep a straight face in person, but she had a dry voice on phone calls. He had made a mental note about it.

That call had been longer than he had intended. They had progressed from talking burning houses to her cramps, which had thankfully subsided, to the new Amul ad hoarding on S.V. Road. Typical Maya. At the end of that phone call, Gautam had dragged himself to his next meeting, wishing he could have gone on another minute with her.

Now, as he got down from the airlines Mercedes just outside his building and strode into the concierge, Gautam felt some kind of spark return. He was two days early, the evening was drab but windy for pre-winter, but Maya would be home. It was a bank holiday. That thought made him rush up through the lift and into his flat.

Everything was quiet. He deflated. Maybe she was out. With her office friends. Or that Aarya. The thickest silver lining of tearing up that contract with Amber was goodbye to Aarya. Good riddance. Gautam deposited his suitcase by the kitchen counter and padded to open the windows. If Maya wasn’t here, he at least needed fresh air. He opened it, stepped out, and that’s when he heard it. Her crying.

He turned and walked down the deck, closer to her bedroom. Stopped.

Her window was open, and she sat on the lounger, feet tucked under her, silently crying. Her hair was in a disarray, her soft pink T-shirt ridden up as she massaged her swollen belly. She looked so small, and vulnerable. His heart squeezed. Did she not feel well? That thought came late and he was about to step forward when her next words froze him.

“Would you forgive me one day…” she hiccupped. “When you are all grown up. I mean… I will make sure you grow up very well. A very nice person. But when you would know that I wasn’t a very good pre-mom, would you forgive me? Your nana and nani have it all, you could have had it all. But you may not. If ever I cannot give you something, would you always remember it and throw it in my face one day?”

Gautam swallowed.

“Listen,” she cried silently to her belly, “You cannot do that, ok? I am telling this to you right now — my intentions will always be the best for you. If I cannot give you something, it’s because I tried and tried but failed. And yes, I spent my youth thinking Maya Kotak can never fail. But baby, adults do fail. And it’s ok if they fail for themselves, but not when they fail for their kids… see now, I haven’t been able to secure us a house. But I promise I will. Before you come, we will have a longterm house. And one day, one day very soon, I promise we will have our own house. Where nobody will be able to throw us out.”

She wiped her face, but her tears kept flowing.

“I have not failed, ok? We have not failed. It’s just a setback. Everything is on track. You still have four months to enjoy all the free rides till then,” she smiled through her tears, patting her belly button playfully. It was such an intimate moment. He ought to have moved away. But his feet were shackled to the ground.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered. And it was borne on the winds. “We’ve got this.”

Gautam turned on his heel and quietly exited her orbit. His eyes were wet. What the hell? He pinched them. The voice to distance himself from her began to rise when the other, stronger, louder voice silenced it. He liked that second voice more. So he quietly shut the windows, grabbed his bag and noiselessly slipped out of the door.

He huffed out a breath, turned at the door, then rung the doorbell. He cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair and checking if his shirt still looked decent.

The door opened and his eyes met hers. Smiling. Red but smiling.

“Hi! What a surprise!” She squealed. “Oh, please come into your own house.” She made a sweeping gesture and stepped to the side.

“I see my house has not become a party pad yet,” he rolled his luggage in.

“The cleaning crew did a good job,” she grinned. “We rolled joints in your crisp green Gandhi Bapus. Nice locker, by the way.”

He smiled, seeing her turn from that vulnerable, crying mother to this upbeat Maya in a matter of minutes. When she joked around with him, there was no sorrow in those eyes. Now if that was a genuine shift or she was that good an actor, he couldn’t decipher.

“What’s your plan for today?” He began to stride to his room.

“Belly dance, then dinner with the Ambassador of Sri Lanka.”

“Cancel it. You are coming with me.”

“Where…” she caught up with him just as he stopped outside his bedroom door.

“To a work dinner.”

“Work?” her nose scrunched. Then she whirled her head to the side, her hair hitting him in the shoulder. “Sorry, I don’t work on bank holidays. It’s against my principles.”

“It’s at Copper Chimney.”

He could see her principles begin to wobble. Copper Chimney was an old Bombay chain serving notoriously good North Indian food.

“For you though…” she gave him a winning smile, “I’ll pull overtime, My Lord!”

He pushed open his door — “Get ready.”

————————————————————

“Give me a brief,” she clipped in a serious tone as they handed their car to the valet and climbed the three steps to the restaurant’s gate. Its new facade was all dark grills and gold accents, and Gautam made sure to keep behind her to make sure she saw her way.

“What brief?”

“We are going for a work dinner. So, who are they, what do they do… why are we meeting them? You know, the Mission Impossible type of stuff,” she ran a hand down her ponytail. For a blubbering mess in T-shirt and pyjamas, she cleaned up well in 30 minutes. A white satiny silk dress that dropped off her shoulders, eyes bright and popping, mouth shiny happy. If he didn’t know better, Gautam would think this is all that Maya Kotak is — eye candy.

“We are meeting Nilay Patel…” he pinned his ear shut at her shrill squeak.

“If you act like this I’ll send you back.”

“Fine, Mr-I-Am-Not-Starstruck, I will keep my mouth shut and act the perfect dumb girl. Happy?” He ignored her jibe and let the hostess lead them to their table, pulling his cuff from under his suit jacket. He had chosen a charcoal suit tonight, with a black silk shirt underneath, not realising that it contrasted perfectly with his dinner partner. He saw it now in a side mirror panel and was shocked to see how good they looked together, her cradling her tiny baby bump, looking pretty and approachable, while he brought up the rear with his scowl.

“We are here because he requested this meeting,” Gautam helped her sit in a booth, then slid in next to her. “That is why I cut short my trip and flew home. He wants us to supply textiles for his 2025 wedding collection but first wants an ego massage.”

“Say no more,” Maya put her hand up, turning to him with her most confident smirk. “I am blackbelt in ego massage.”

“You are to be quiet,” he warned, leaning in.

“Oh, am I?” She leaned in closer, making him break into a smile. Her mouth twisted too.

“Excuse me, sir,” the hostess broke their moment. Gautam turned. “Your guest is here,” she moved aside and there was Nilay Patel, also known as NiP in his circles. He looked better in person, even at the ripe old age of 40. In a black button down on a black pair of fitted trousers, he wore a white linen stole wrapped around his neck. In this faux-autumn of Mumbai. But such were these designers.

Gautam stood to his feet and extended his hand — “Hello, Mr. Patel. I am Gautam Kumar and this is my Senior Designer — Maya Kotak.”

“Call me NiP,” he shook hands, gesturing Maya to remain seated. His thick heavy beard twitched as he grinned at her — “Beautiful ladies do not stand up for mere mortals like us.”

Gautam eyed the dandy designer as he took a seat in front of them.

“I heard you had to run back from Europe for this meeting?” Nilay sat back, one arm stretched behind his booth. The classic pose for ‘come worship at my altar.’

Before Gautam could, Maya clapped her hands together — “Oh my god! Am I really sitting in front of you…? I’m sorry… please bear with me for a second as I get it out of my system.”

Nilay smirked — “You are a designer yourself, right?”

“Yes, and a big fan of yours. You brought pastels back to the wedding scene, it’s been here ever since! Though I see a lot of designers trying to ape it and fail miserably…”

“They can try, but they don’t find muses like me,” he winked, holding her gaze longer than decent.

“Your work has taken Indian fashion to the West,” Gautam started. “It’s good to see that hegemony brought to their knees when it comes to our heritage fashion and fabrics.”

“What can I say? I do enjoy ‘em on their knees,” he laughed, again giving Maya a look. Alright then.

“Shall we order?” Gautam gestured to the waiter and their menus were delivered.

“So tell me about yourself, Maya. Where are you from?”

“Right here. Mumbai.”

“Maya from Mayanagri. That’s beautiful. Maybe it’ll be my next collection’s name.”

“And I’ll catch hold of my grandkids every Sunday to tell them this story,” she beamed. Gautam gritted his teeth.

“I’ll have one of your Kebab Platters with a White Pepper Soup,” NiP placed his ordered.

“Maya?”

“I don’t think I can do spicy stuff today,” she gave him an apologetic smile. Gautam leaned into her — “What’s wrong?”

“Just acidity.”

“It it ok?” He glanced at her belly hidden under the table cloth. She nodded.

“We can order a Khichdi or Peas Pulao for you…”

“It’ll be a huge serving for just me.”

“I’ll eat it,” he nodded. Then turned to relay their order.

“Excuse me,” Maya began to rise to her feet, and he did too, moving out to let her leave. Just as he turned, he saw NiP’s eyes widen. The man, for the first time since his arrival, looked anything close to a ‘mere mortal.’ He peered at a clueless Maya padding away, then back to him. Then made a sound in his throat — “I am so sorry yaar. I didn’t know you two are together. And I kept flirting with her.”

Gautam opened his mouth to deny it, but then stopped. He nodded, still standing by the table, looking for her to come back. If she didn’t return in one minute, he would go find her. Were her cramps back?

“Congratulations, by the way,” NiP gestured with his hand in Maya’s general direction. “When are you due?”

“January.”

“Must be scary.”

“It’s also hopeful,” he blinked, thinking about Maya’s baby for the first time as a baby. It wouldn’t be scary. If it was anything like Maya, it would be a ball of sunshine. It would come laughing and kicking into this world, shining its light on everyone.

“Hey,” Maya returned. “You kept standing for me?”

Gautam nodded, taking the clutch from her hand to help her slide inside. Once he took his seat and their food started arriving, their conversation turned to business. And true to his honour, NiP did not flirt with Maya again.

————————————————————

“Mmmmm…” his new roommate licked the spoon like she was licking a whole mountain of chocolate. Still in her pretty white dress, tiny heeled sandals left on the side, clutch abandoned, she reclined on his sofa with a tub full of Chocolate Mousse Royale from Baskin Robbins. Apparently, it was better than Mississippi Mud. He didn’t agree, as he sat on the far end from her, in his full formal wear, quietly eating his chosen flavour from a small cup. How she had convinced him that ice cream was the only home remedy for acidity was beyond him.

“I can’t believe NiP is going to partner with us…” she moaned around a spoonful.

“Nothing is set in stone yet.”

“Didn’t you see? He was so,” she did some sort of wave dance with her hands, spoon in mouth, “when he came into the restaurant. And by the time the food arrived he was talking serious business. Must be all my ego massage.”

“This ego massage?” Gautam imitated her wave dance and knew that he botched it. She stuck her tongue out, scooping more ice cream into her mouth. “Oofff!” She jerked up, hands on her belly.

“Maya!” He ran to her, “What is it? Do you need to go to the hospital again? Should I call your doctor? I told you eating so much ice cream at once is not good…”

She smiled. His eyes squeezed shut in relief. Gautam kneeled down between her feet, automatically smiling — “Is this something to joke about?”

She shook her head, still smiling, eyes not on him but somewhere else, hands still on her tummy — “It’s kicking.”

“What? The baby?”

“Yes! Yes! You are real!” She murmured to her tummy. “Shi… I mean, wow, you are real. Hello! Do you like ice cream too?” Her eyes were tearing up as she glanced back down at him, so much emotion pooling in her two dark irises. “G, this is so awesome. This is… how do I describe it, it’s…”

“I know,” he reached out and rubbed the tear from the corner of her eye. Her smile widened. “Come, you wanna feel it?”

Before he could make a decision, she had pulled his hand and thrust it on her stomach. He recoiled. It was hard. He had always looked at her stomach and thought it would be soft. After all, a human was living in there. Bump.

“Is it…?” He asked her incredulous. He couldn’t believe how amazed his voice sounded even to himself. Maya nodded, pressing his hand harder, then moving it to the side. There, another bump. Was it the baby’s leg or the arm? Gautam hesitated, then caressed the place, feeling a stronger kick right there. All the cuss words from his long lost life came to the tip of his tongue. That was how amazed he was. He swallowed them down. The baby shouldn’t hear such words now, should she?

“Is this the first time?” He asked.

“I have felt bubbles for a month or so, but this is the first time it has kicked so hard. It is real, Gautam. My baby is real. It’s coming soon.” She broke into a sob. He instantly was up and on the sofa, his arms going around her to pull her into his chest. “Shhhit… I need to stop crying.” She covered her face with both hands.

“No, it’s ok,” he pressed her head into his chest. “Your baby is coming soon, M. It’s real. It’s such a happy little thing kicking me. I think it agrees that Mississippi Mud is better than that royal mousse thing.”

Her whole body rattled in his arms, and the prettiest wet eyes blinked up at him, surrounded by clouds of the most wild dark waves — “All chocolate is good chocolate. My baby is smart that way.”

He grinned, feeling his face light up with hundreds of tiny fireflies as he dipped and kissed her forehead. She stilled. He felt the swallow down her throat on his own chest. A few empty moments passed. Then quietly, Gautam distanced his mouth from her forehead.

“Was that ok?” He asked.

A second of silence. A huff. Then a small nod.

“Yes. Thanks for sharing this with me. I don’t know who I would have told it to immediately had it happened to me alone.”

She began to get out of his hold but he pressed her back — “How come the whole world is your friend and you don’t have one person to share your greatest joy with?”

“I don’t know, I am not that self-aware,” she tried to joke.

“I am serious, M,” he pushed her wild waves behind her ear and cupped her cheek. She was so beautiful that she was making it difficult to breathe. “How is there nobody here for you? With you?”

“My maasi is there…”

“Where?”

“In America. But her Green Card is finally under process, so she can’t leave the country right now. You know about my parents. The baby’s fa…”

“Dare you call that man her father,” he thundered. “Fathers are not like that.”

“What was your father like, G?”

“Why this question?”

“Because you hold fathers to a higher standard than I do.”

“I never met him.”

“Then who made you believe in fathers?”

“Kumar bhai.”

A tender curve brushed her mouth. “The famous Kumar bhai. Is he your relative?”

“No. A complete stranger who employed me as his cleaner.”

“Tell me, is your surname really Kumar or you adopted Kumar bhai’s name?”

“Has pregnancy made you suddenly a little sharp?” He booped her nose. Couldn’t help it. It was right there, red after her crying, button-like, cute.

“I was always sharp. Or don’t you know? I aced all my exams.”

He chuckled. “I took Kumar bhai’s name when I had to get my IDs made. Though his full name is Kumar Bhatti.”

“How often do you talk to him?”

“Not as often I’d like to. But he understands. He is busy in his life too. It’s not like I call him up every Sunday and share my week. We talk on festivals. Or if there is some work on either end. Men don’t need much chit-chat like girls. And especially you.”

“Me? Chitchat?”

“Your loud gossip is still reverberating in my office alleys.”

“Admit it, I have brought colours and music and fun to your boring office. Like Raj Aryan did to Narayan Shankar!”

“Who?”

“Mohabattein?”

He shook his head.

“Made in Mumbai has been fully transformed, but GK Textiles is still just… vanilla.”

“Don’t even think about touching it. That one floor has remained safe and sane.”

Even as he warned her, his tone held no heat. Maya sighed, her head resting back on his arm as she caressed her stomach.

“What do you plan to do after the baby is born?”

“For starters, find a place before it is born. Seriously Gautam, now that you are back, I need to start looking actively. My brokers are already lining up viewings.”

“Let this weekend go. I’ll speak to my brokers too. That reminds me, you have your doctor’s appointment, right? Your doctor said it last time.”

“It’s next week.”

“What time?”

“11.30. I’ll inform Trisha that I’m taking an hour off, don’t worry,” she rolled her eyes.

“I’ll drive you.”

“Arey, I’ll be back in office on time.”

“And I said I will drive you. I cannot trust you with a rickshawala. You’d start chatting with him and make him lose the way.”

“You know what?”

“What?”

Her eyes rolled around, thinking. Then the anticlimax of Maya-anticlimaxes — “Don’t talk to me!”

He didn’t, but he held her tight and laughed. Kept laughing.