17. Tum Paas Aa Rahe Ho
Gautam lay her sleeping form down on the sofa, got a few pillows and shawl to make her comfortable, then retreated to his bedroom. The first thing he did was wake up his lawyer. He didn’t stop to think if what he was demanding was right or wrong. He just made those demands.
“I want you to draft two documents. One — a restraining order from Maya Kotak against her ex-husband Hem Sanghvi. Two — a relinquishing of paternal rights of Hem Sanghvi over Maya Kotak’s unborn child.”
“Sir, relinquishing paternal rights is not that easy in India…”
“Figure it out. And send me the final drafts before 5 am.”
The next call he made was to Arsalan Bhai. He wasn’t thick with gang lords, neither did he engage in shady business. But as a wealthy business owner with properties in multiple parts of the city, unions in his mills and many more organisations, he had made a lot of acquaintances in his ten years’ career. This one was a politically-connected goon who operated out of South Bombay.
“Gautam bhaaai!” The goon picked up on second ring. Ok, Gautam had funded a few of his candidates’ campaigns too. “Kaise yaad kiya apun ko? Woh bhi itni raat ko? Yaa advance mein Happy Diwali karne ko phone kiya?”
“Arsalan bhai, ek kaam tha.”
“Bolo,” his voice turned solemn.
“Ek aadmi hai.”
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Gautam strode down the 55th floor apartment alley of the tallest high-rise of Worli. The sun was not even fully out yet but the men behind him looked like they were primed and wired for it. He stopped before a sturdy door, the nameplate big and flashy. One of the men beside him rung the bell.
No answer.
He rung it again, this time in quick bursts of two.
“Kya hai! Doodh itni jaldi kyu…” the door opened and the squeaky voice shut off. Hem Sanghvi stood in his boxers, his face rumpled and eyes half-slits. Gautam pushed in. The man’s eyes widened as he tried to push back.
“Hey! Who are…”
Gautam punched him. The man went flying back into his massive hall. Gautam didn’t wait for him to recover but jumped on his body and went in with quick, hard hits — slapping, punching, kneeing. He had never learnt to fight fair. And didn’t fight fair now. All that mattered was that the opponent should go home in worse shape than you.
“Aye…” the reptile of a man tried to push him back. Gautam just doubled down harder, channeling the night’s pent up energy into pummelling the man who had dared to raise his hand at Maya. He kept going, until blood flowed and Hem cried. Cried.
Gautam pushed up to his feet before he lost consciousness.
“Scared?” He asked.
“Who are… you?” Hem cried. “Wha… if you want money I’ll give you… please leave me,” he folded his hands.
Gautam pulled the papers from inside his jacket pocket and slapped them on the floor in front of him. Then handed him a pen — “Sign.”
“Whhaaa… what?” He pushed his eyes wide, bleeding from his nose and mouth, trying to read.
“Relinquish of paternal rights over Maya Kotak’s child.”
“She is still pregnant?” He grimaced.
“Sign.”
He didn’t even hesitate. The man signed away his rights in half a blink. Gautam grabbed the papers and pinned the man to the floor — “You will be slapped with restraining orders against Maya Kotak in the next 24 hours. Acknowledge them, and stay away from her. If you don’t, I have her photos that show what you did to her.”
His eyes widened.
“If you want to live your life quietly in your circle, then keep your mouth shut and never cross paths with her again.”
He nodded, the fear in his eyes growing as the men gathered around them.
“They are here to clean you up. Or can you manage that yourself?”
“I… will not say this to anybody.” The bastard understood.
Gautam got to his feet, his knuckles throbbing. He secured the papers safely in his jacket pocket and left the house.
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He tried to be as noiseless as possible as he turned the key in his door. It was still early and Maya had cried enough last night to sleep late. He stepped inside and froze. She was crying again, sitting on the sofa, her mobile pressed to her forehead. He rushed to her.
“M?” He kneeled between her legs. “What’s wrong?”
Teary eyes rose to his, her hair in a disarray. She seemed to have just woken up, the bedding in a mess around her. He pushed her hair behind her ear, running his palm over her shoulder.
“M?”
“You did this for me?”
He frowned. Then his gaze switched to her mobile. It was still unlocked, the call log open to the last call details. Hem Sanghvi.
“He called you?” Gautam raged. “That coward…’
“He called to ask if I had hired goons,” Maya chuckled. “Seriously though, if I had hired goons I would hire somebody a lot more macho, and muscled. Maybe you should go to the gym more than the weekends…” she eyed his shoulders, “and look a little…” she circled a finger over his face. “Less pretty.”
Gautam laughed, sitting up beside her and pulling the papers out. “I did this without your consent and you have every right to fight with me on this. But I do not want MM to have any legal ties to him. Ever. He cannot have any control over you or MM in the future.”
She accepted the papers and read through them. Her eyes watered again, tears flowing down her cheeks, her nose, everywhere. He didn’t know someone could cry like this. Like a fountain.
“And M?”
“Hmm?” She was still crying, reading down the draft of relinquish of paternal rights.
“I have also drafted a restraining order against him on your behalf. Once you sign it, I will have my lawyer serve him.”
“He said you told him you have photos of me wounded?”
“I bluffed, he believed. Did you take such photos?”
She shook her head. “I was so shocked, I made sure to move away from him the first time. The second time I left his flat and never looked back.”
“He will never know if we have any photos or no,” he patted her hand.
“Thank you.”
He went to open his mouth when his phone buzzed. Sahyadri. He turned the ringer off.
“You can take it.”
“Not now. I will deal with her later. For the next five days, it’s just us.”
“Hmm?” She quirked her brow, rubbing tears from the corner of her eyes. “And what are we doing for the next five days? What do you usually do for Diwali?”
“Nothing big. I go to the gym daily because its empty in these days. I usually have a get-together with my oldest employees, some of whom are working elsewhere. Some years I travel to my mills or visit Kumar bhai in Amritsar.”
“And who does all the poojas in your own house?” She swept her arm around them.
“What poojas?”
“Laxmi poojan, Chopda poojan, all of that?”
He shrugged — “Nobody.”
“Then this year we will.”
“I was thinking we could go somewhere, if your doctor allows.”
“Like where?”
“Where do you want to go?”
“To the fireworks shop. And get lots of fuljhadi. I would want other deadly crackers too but I don’t think I will be able to set fire to them and run back fast enough.” She pointed to her belly. He rubbed it though her saree, smiling. “I was talking about going somewhere out of Mumbai, maybe out of India…”
His doorbell rang.
“Who’s that?”
“Your milkman, G. It’s 7.30.”
“He usually leaves the milk outside.”
“Not since I came here. We chat every day and he bitches about his wife’s sugarless tea,” Maya barred her teeth, shaking her hair out and getting to her feet. Even after sleeping in last night’s saree and some makeup, she shone brighter than the sun this morning. Gautam closed his eyes, finally able to relax after a night of calls, plotting and mindless rage. In the background he could hear Maya’s chirping with his milkman, the twittering of birds and aeroplane take-offs. It was peace.
————————————————————
Another doorbell broke his sleep. Why was the milkman ringing the doorbell again when Maya was already at the door? Gautam turned on the sofa, burying his face into the cushion. Murmurs. Maya’s voice. And a familiar voice.
“Gautam?” Maya called out.
“What?” He turned, rubbing sleep from his eyes and sitting up. He trudged towards the half-open door, Maya blocking the other half of the person standing there. She was showered and it was noon already. “Who’s it…” he stopped short at the sight that greeted him.
“Oye khotte de puttar, ae ki?” Kumar bhai stood perturbed at his door, glancing between him and Maya. A very pregnant Maya. Gautam was wide awake now.
“Tu vyaah kitta te dasya vi nai?” Kumar bhai set his trunk down, his eyes wide. And now Gautam was beginning to understand that it did look like he was hiding a secret wife and a secret baby in his house. He shook his head — “Keda vyah? Ae Maya hai…” he pointed to her in Punjabi. “M.”
As if that word was the talisman. Kumar bhai’s perturbed face stretched into a sudden grin. “M? Mumbai wali M?” He peered into her face, as if trying to recognise the girl he had met in rage when he had come looking for him that day.
“Mumbai wali M,” Maya smiled. “You talked about me so much, huh G?” She nudged his shoulder with hers. Kumar bhai laughed — “He did. Now can I come in?”
“Oh, please, yes, aaiye,” Maya moved aside. Gautam rubbed his face, trying to absorb the shock of the last few minutes. He had gone to sleep listening to Maya gossip with his milkman and woken up to Kumar bhai’s raid. He opened his arms and Kumar bhai gave him a big bear hug, patting his back with those zealous claps that hurt more than they reverberated. He looked the same after the last time they had met. But what could a year change? His turban was still the same coloured — blue. He wore his favourite white kurta-pyjama, crisp and ironed. Gautam had learned the art of neat dressing from him. Even as a truck driver with days of vagabond lifestyle, he had had a system of washing, drying and ironing his clothes on the go. He was never found wearing anything that stank or looked shabby.
“Khota,” Kumar bhai pulled back, patted his cheek and went back for his trunk. Gautam caught Maya’s eyes and she was smiling tenderly. Like this was some silly lovey-dovey movie playing out here.
“I came thinking I will surprise you,” Kumar bhai closed the door. “And here you surprised me.”
“Oh no,” Maya clarified before he could. “It is not like that. We are not married.”
“Yes. We are not.” Gautam intoned, giving Kumar bhai that look. Do not go there right now.
Five years of living day and night together had its pros. Kumar bhai took the cue and turned into the jokester he was — “Then you are saved, puttar,” he raised his hand for a high-five and Maya opened hers. Always ready for a G-bashing session.
“Let me take a bath and come,” Gautam informed the two new gossipers. They didn’t even care as they moved towards the sofa talking about how his wife would only hear ‘Yeses’ and ‘Nos’ from him all their life. Gautam made a beeline for his bathroom, not ready to leave them alone for long.
It didn’t matter though. Because when he came back after showering in record time, Kumar bhai was telling her about the incident when he had taken the truck to fill diesel and had come back with petrol in it. Their truck had broken down on the highway and it had been a headache in the middle of a north-Indian summer to empty the full tank, clean it and refill it with diesel. Kumar bhai had made him run half a kilometre throwing stones and sticks and anything he could find at him while that process had been going on.
Maya was laughing so hard, ready to start rolling on the floor if he didn’t stop her. He did, of course, taking his grumpy mood to them. But did they care? No. Throughout the day, they kept relaying incidents to each other. And while Gautam did become the common butt of their jokes, he just warmed up every time they mentioned his name, even if to mock him.
It was by the end of the day that Maya offered Kumar bhai her room, getting plans underway to sleep in the hall. Before he could, Kumar bhai refused vehemently, claiming that he would sleep with ‘Ae Khotta’ — meaning him, the donkey.
That’s how after dinner, they found some alone time together. Gautam deposited a bottle of water on Kumar bhai’s bedside and lowered himself on the lounger beside his bedroom window.
“Bol,” Kumar bhai cued.
“Kya bolu? We are not married. She is divorced, pregnant with his child. But that man hit her.”
“Did you beat him up?” Kumar bhai was matter-of-fact. Gautam smirked — “Just this morning.”
“Do we want to go again?”
“No. He understood.”
“How did this happen? You have been cursing her all these years!”
Gautam smiled, shaking his head, his eyes fixated on the skyline far away.
“Even I don’t know. But she is not as I had built her up in my head. You remember that morning, how she spoke to us? The things she said. In the beginning I thought she was right in being angry, I had lied to her all day. But then, as time passed, I began to think of her as this bratty, entitled rich girl who couldn’t handle that she had spent a day with a cleaner like me.” Gautam threw his head back. “But she is… you sat with her all day today. You think there is anything bratty or entitled in her?”
Kumar bhai laughed, putting his feet up on the bed and getting comfortable. “You know, she said sorry to me.”
“I am not surprised. She… she makes you laugh, she makes you angry, she makes you frustrated sometimes. But then one smile, one comment from her and you will thank all the gods above that she is with you.”
Kumar bhai was silent. Gautam turned to him and raised his brows — “What?”
“What are you doing with her, Yaara?” He addressed him with that old, familiar moniker that always came out in mellower moments. “She is pregnant, looking at you like you are her hero. Tune kya waade kiya hai use?”
“Ek bhi nahi. She doesn’t want anything right now. Neither do I. Her landlord threw her out, so she is staying here, fought with me to pay rent,” he chuckled. “And I want her here. She has nobody. I can help her right now, keep her happy, safe, healthy…”
“And after her child is born? Then what?”
“We will see then.”
“Will you be a father?”
Gautam’s whole body seized up. His heartbeat drummed in his ears.
“See? Even the word makes you go into a fit. What are you doing with her? Giving her hope like this…”
“She doesn’t want hope. She doesn’t want anything. We are just…” he searched for the right words.
“Just what?”
“Just… seeing where it goes.”
“That’s ok if she was alone. She is not.”
Gautam clamped up. He had no answer. He had given it a thought, of course he had. But Maya wasn’t ready to talk about the future with him, and that had been his shield to hide behind. Yes, one day they would address this. But that one day wasn’t today. They were just getting to know each other again, discovering the joys of being with each other. This was enough for now. It had to be.
“Anyway,” Kumar bhai sighed, “I came here for a reason.”
“You didn’t come for Diwali?”
He shook his head, lying back on the bed’s headrest and pushing the pillows up to support his back. He wasn’t as young now, his aches and pains visible in the way he groaned every time he hit a flat surface. At 53, he looked fit, but three decades on the road had taken a toll on him.
“Your mother,” he started.
“What about her?” Gautam clipped.
“She has been calling me, every few days. She is ill, says she wants to meet you. Keeps asking your address, your phone number…”
“Do not give it.”
“I have not. I just wanted to come and tell you this in person. I didn’t know how you would react on the phone.”
“What’s to react? I would have said no. End of discussion.”
“No. No end of discussion. She is your mother. Go to her once. Maybe for the last time. You don’t have to do anything, just go and see what she wants, if there is something you can do…”
“No.”
“Gautam,” he warned.
“No, Kumar bhai. No. I am not becoming that person again. And I always become a weak, begging kid in front of her, however rich I am. The last time she took all the money I offered and then asked me to come back next month with more than this. I am not going back there again.”
“She may die…”
“Let her!” He spat. Kumar bhai sat back quiet.
“You know Kumar bhai, I can’t.”
He nodded. Then lay down on the bed and spread his arms wide. “Chal, so ja.”
Gautam stared at the starfish-shaped sardar beginning to snore on his bed. When Gautam had let him self-invite himself into his room, he had forgotten how Kumar bhai slept. He eyed the leftover space and regretted not clearing his office room’s bed.
————————————————————
Kumar bhai wanted to leave the next day, but Maya being Maya, made a ruckus to stop him. She made every dramatic plea, exhausted all her sweet-talk quota and at the end — tempted Kumar bhai with her Diwali speciality — ‘Gujarati Dal na Wada.’ And just like that, their Diwali plans were reworked, Maya being the ringmaster.
She got them both to work. In record time she had ordered a ton of string lights and had them climbing on balconies and deck railings to string them along. In half-circles, exactly ‘this much’ apart — ‘this much’ being her two hands that kept changing the measurement every time they rose. The house was cleaned, the kitchen was cleaned — not by her but by the two erstwhile truck drivers who couldn’t see a pregnant woman hold her belly and wipe down the platform. She was such a drama.
On Dhanteras evening, the day of Goddess Laxmi, she laid out three silver coins in a steel plate, one for each of them. And from where she got it he didn’t know, but she had the makings of a full pooja in another platter. Dressed in a forest green saree that made her figure look even more lush, forcing them both into kurtas, she had Laxmi Poojan done for the first time in his house. As all of Mumbai did their own Laxmi Poojan by dusk and celebrated with crackers, she and Kumar bhai opened a pack of fuljhadi and they went out on the deck to burst them.
If Gautam thought that was the limit of festivity, then he was in for a surprise on Diwali. She had completely taken over his kitchen, she and Kumar bhai, prepping for the big ‘Gujarati’ Diwali dinner. Apparently, after you performed ‘Chopda’ Poojan or the worship of your new account books for the new year, you would have a set meal of dry potato sabzi, red gravy paneer, sweet and sour dal, dudh-paak kheer, puri and some special pakode that they called ‘dal wada.’
She had called a brahmin to perform this particular pooja and by evening, she had designed rangolis at his entrance and in a corner of the house that faced east. Kumar bhai didn’t comment on it, but he didn’t have to. He was proud and happy and looking like a Maya Kotak devotee as he followed her everywhere, did her bidding, and even gave him those ‘looks.’
At dusk again, Gautam found himself in a kurta-pyjama, sitting between Maya and Kumar bhai, performing the elaborate pooja of a couple of account books that again, she had procured. He had argued that they didn’t use physical account books anymore, so she had also carried his Mac and placed it in the pooja, engaging the Punditji in a discussion on modern day chopda poojan. It was lively, and peaceful, and hopeful, this poojan, where they prayed together as a family for a prosperous and flourishing new year.
And if he thought her Diwali ended there then he was mistaken. Because just as massive fireworks began to light up the city’s moonless skyline, she pulled him and Kumar bhai down to the eco-deck garden of his building, where society members were all wishing each other, bursting crackers, taking selfies. He knew most of them by face and name, but Maya talked to them like she had gone on teas and dinners to every household, introducing Kumar bhai like he was her long-lost friend. It was too much — the laughter, the happiness, the light of the firecrackers. And Gautam couldn’t stop smiling as she brought a fuljhadi and handed it to him. He held it because she had given him, searching for the nearest kid to pass it on to. But Maya just held onto his wrist and circled it in big rounds, like they were little kids themselves. He laughed, and this time, he did become a part of her exuberance. She was enamoured by some young kids bursting rockets and anaars and chakris. She couldn’t do it. So he took her back far enough to stay away from the fumes, and burst crackers for her.
Every time an anaar or chakri went up in sparks under his hand, he looked back at her instead of the cracker. Because every time, Maya’s pretty eyes lit up. And with them, he could see every part of him light up. It was becoming increasingly difficult to not address that question Kumar bhai had asked him the first night. And he liked it.