Chapter 5
His gown billowed behind him as Zubin walked from one courtroom to the other, his junior switching the papers in his hands.
Shashank had been with him for eight years now and was one of the best associates out there.
Zubin had fought law firms and in-house legal teams and the American dream and unicorns alike to keep him.
Zubin had also shelled out enough cash to sponsor a flat in Mumbai’s suburbs to keep his CTC fat and growing. Every rupee was worth it.
Shashank handed him his iPad, having switched case notes from his last case to the next one, with everything else switched smoothly. From RERA to divorce, the research topnotch.
“Where is Chandni Jethmalani?”
“Sir, the Jethmalanis are at the court registry for the signatures.”
Zubin nodded, stepping inside the courtroom that was almost deserted.
A few seats at the back were occupied by lawyers waiting to mention their own cases to the judge, all others empty.
The Jethmalanis were loaded, but not famous.
Even so, Zubin was surprised to see that they did not have any families to come and sit down for this.
But he also knew that they had no children to speak of, so no immediate family.
“Who has gone with Chandni Jethmalani?”
Shashank snorted. “You think she needs anybody for moral support?”
“I think the rest of them need somebody for protection.”
Shashank gave a wry laugh as they walked up to the main tables and pulled out their chairs on the Respondent’s side.
Zubin glanced at the Appellant table. Empty.
An electric current whizzed up his spine.
His thudding heart picked up speed. The pulse at the centre of his throat began to fly.
Fuck stop, he told it. He was 40, and not ready for a heart attack out of joy.
Was he sick? Feeling excitement and joy and birdies and thrills at the thought of Aditi coming back up against him? Professionally, he was prepared for the case. Personally, he couldn’t wait for this to start. Yet again.
Chandni Aunty’s loud, shrill voice broke his thoughts, and he turned his head.
There she was, walking into the courtroom, all decked up and ready, this time a Birkin bag on her wrist and LV sunglasses pushed up into her hair.
She was beaming at him, his intern, Jasmine, by her side.
Chandni Aunty waved at him and he waved back, his hand stopping midway as his gaze went to the woman stepping in behind her.
His throat dried.
Aditi Daruwala was walking in her billowing black gown, her white collar band closing that long neck that he had the privilege of kissing this morning. Her eyes met his, and the fire and the challenge in them softened, then blazed harder.
“We will dismiss the whole case today only, no?” Chandni Aunty’s excited whisper in his ear made him break away from Aditi’s gaze. Zubin looked at her over his shoulder, smiling — “Not the case, Chandni Aunty, the appeal. You will be granted a divorce with all your demands.”
Her throat worked a swallow. But her eyes flared.
Zubin nodded his chin back at her seat, and she walked back and settled down. Raviraj Jethmalani took his seat behind the Appellant table, looking just as calm and distinguished as he had looked last time.
“Advocate Daruwala.” Zubin got to his feet just as Aditi and her associate came to their table. Shashank and Jasmine were up too.
“Advocate DOSHI,” she clipped.
“Since when?” He feigned ignorance, knowing well that she had retained her maiden name at work.
Aditi ignored him, nodded at his team, then pulled her chair.
“Can I borrow a pen?”
She froze mid-seat. Her head turned. “No.”
“Please,” he begged, his voice low enough to remain between them.
Her eyes closed, still not taking the bait as she sat down. Zubin smirked. “I saw you stealing the extra pen from the ironing counter this morning.”
“I bought that pen, so it is not stealing.” She kept her eyes ahead.
“But you kept it in a shared area as a shared resource.”
“I know what you are trying to do,” her eyes cut to him.
“And what’s that?”
“Instigate me.”
“I am just asking for a pen, Doshi.” He smiled that smile that he knew drove her crazy. In a mad way, not in a swoony way. That was a different smile, the one that she was mostly immune to now after six years of marriage.
“No.”
“You are scared that if you throw your pen at me, I will win.”
Her face contorted and finally turned to him — “What?”
“It’s a lucky charm at this point.” He shrugged. “Maybe you don’t trust your case enough and need that lucky charm for yourself. Hand it to me nicely and I will throw it at you. Maybe then you will have a shot at dismissing my plea today.”
Her eyes narrowed. Of course he knew what she was about to do today.
And he didn’t even have to peep into her case notes last night.
Zubin smirked. The smirk that made her want to behead him.
He knew that too now, after twenty years of consistently getting on her nerves, six of them married and relatively tamed.
She reached inside her bag, picked up her stolen/ bought pen and threw it him. He caught it, laughing quietly.
“Now zip it.”
“Want me to throw it back?”
“Shut it.”
“All rise,” the bailiff announced.
They pushed up to their feet.
The doors opened, and in walked Justice Suketu Deshmukh.
Zubin smiled, bowing his head, holding back his silent laughter at the fun that the universe was having at this point.
Their old college professor, and the man who had presided over their first and allegedly last case seven years ago.
When they had found out that he was presiding over this case, Zubin had thought somebody at the Registry was ragging him.
Then Aditi had informed him, not so pleasantly, that it was true.
And he had laughed for two hours straight.
Justice Deshmukh settled his big body into the Judge’s chair.
Seven years had only added to his massiveness, and his blood sugar levels.
But he still was sharp as a tack, his all-white hair thinning but gleaming with good health, his thin specs still sliding down his nose as he peered at the papers in front of him, and his handlebar moustache as stiff as ever.
“Filing for a Motion for Recusal, Doshi?” Zubin murmured to her as they took their seats.
Infuriated air left her nostrils. It would be boiling red if it had a colour.
He smirked. Seven years ago, she had been foolish enough to file for a Motion for Recusal the moment she had found out that their college professor was their judge.
She had gone on to, not so successfully, argue it too.
One of the top 5 funniest courtroom arguments he had ever witnessed.
“Ms. Doshi, Mr. Daruwala,” Justice Deshmukh called out. “Do your clients have full disclosure about your personal situation?”
Zubin stood to his feet along with Aditi. “Yes, Your Lordship.” “Yes, My Lord.”
Justice Deshmukh showed no reaction whatsoever, and went back to his papers.
“Are both parties present?”
“Yes, Your Lordship.” “Yes, My Lord.”
Justice Deshmukh looked up again, this time glancing at the husband and wife sitting behind them. He nodded.
“Appellant, your opening argument.”
Aditi got to her feet, setting her pen down.
“My Lord, we appeal the order of the learned Family Court vide the learned court accepted all the demands of the Respondent in this divorce case, which were completely absurd. Moreover, the judge presiding over the case happened to be a near and dear friend of the Respondent and as such unfit to preside over the case.”
Zubin raised his hand. “Objection, Your Lordship.”
Justice Deshmukh glanced up from the appeal he was reading side by side as Aditi was reading her Bible. His specs slid down his nose — “What in this is objectionable, Mr. Daruwala? She said two lines.”
“Both wrong.” Zubin got to his feet. “First, my learned friend must learn to substantiate an adjective with facts before preemptively throwing it around. Absurd is a broad term, and she has so far been abysmally unable to substantiate her concocted allegation with facts or logic. Second, the learned judge of Family Court is not a ‘near and dear friend,’ but a mere acquaintance who happened to understand my client’s pain. ”
“My Lord…” Aditi began but the judge cut her off. There goes the fun, Zubin scoffed inside.
“Mr. Daruwala, the court understood that you have a splendid command over the English language but it is premature to entertain anything of what you said… whatever it is that you said. Let her finish first.”
Zubin heard Aditi’s quiet cough and cut his eyes to her. Her cheeks were drawn in. She was bloody laughing at him.
“Yes, Ms. Doshi.”
Zubin sat back down and heard the fiery streak burn even hotter in her next words.
“My Lord, my client made an attempt to seek divorce through mutual understanding, however, since the Respondent made it impossible, my client was compelled to file a petition before the Family Court for divorce on the legal grounds of cruelty in terms of mental torture, in which the respondent surprisingly agreed to the divorce instantly, provided, her demands were met. And these demands were, through all the interpretations, absurd and childish.”
“Objection, Your Lordship.” Zubin raised his hand again.
“Speak, Mr. Daruwala. What new objection have you concocted in the sixty seconds since you last spoke?”
Zubin gave him a broad smile and got to his feet again — “Your Lordship, we were not even given substantiation over ‘absurd’ and now there is ‘childish.’ That is low even for Advocate Doshi, to call my client childish.”
“But I didn’t call her childish!” Aditi ate the bait. “I called the demands, whoever drafted them, childish.”
“It was all my client. Now what do you have to say?” Zubin countered, seeing her face redden and enjoying every second of it. “Does an old woman’s despair seem childish, funny, entertaining to you Ms…”
“I am not old!” Chandni Aunty chimed from behind him. “I am just mid-forties.”