Chapter 7
“All rise.”
They rose to their feet. Zubin glanced at Aditi, who was busy smiling at the judge with that professional calm.
The judge took his seat, and they sat down too.
That’s when Aditi glanced at him and he picked up the pen that he had stolen from their ironing table this morning. Her pen. Her teeth ground together.
“After having read the appeal, this court is of the opinion that the issues pertaining to the appeal may be divided into three sub-categories, and as such, the court sets three dates for arguments over immovable assets, movable assets and miscellaneous demands respectively. Hence, I shall only hear arguments over demands for immovable assets today. Ms. Doshi.”
“Yes, My Lord,” Aditi got to her feet, holding her palm up for her associate to slide her case notes under it.
For all his competitive spirit inside the courtroom, Zubin was so proud of the niche Aditi had carved out for herself in her firm.
And the position she had earned to command it.
Once upon a time, her interns didn’t even carry briefs for her.
“If you go to page number 52 of the appeal, My Lord, we have enumerated each and every demand of the respondent on our immovable assets which are absurd and do not follow any rules of prudency even in the slightest. My Lord, the respondent has sought nearly ninety percent of all the immovable assets and only then would she agree to the divorce…”
“Your Lordship,” Zubin intervened, rising to his feet.
“My client has been with the Appellant for more than 40 years now, she has seen happy days and bad days with him. He is what he is today only because of my client being there with him. Now that he wants a separation, he cannot have it all on his terms. He cannot have his cookie and eat it too…”
“My Lord, they can’t demand ninety percent of the cookie…”
“Please let me finish,” Zubin held his own, and Aditi yielded.
“It is not about the amount of cookie demanded, rather the quality of the cookie itself. Lordship, my client and her husband started their life in a 4X4 room in a dilapidated, old building. They have built their life and she has scaled her lifestyle to this. You cannot expect her to let go of this lifestyle that she is now used to, all in a heartbeat. Moreover, she is entering the older stages of life. Medical bills, healthcare, therapies, all of this compounds for anybody in this age bracket…”
Aditi began to open her mouth, no doubt to point out that Jethmalani was also entering into a similar age of life, but Zubin pushed on — “Moreover, her husband is at the helm of a successful business. He earns, and will keep earning, expanding his assets. For my client, this is it. What she gets now, is all she ever has for life. The immovable assets have been fairly demanded, keeping in mind what her needs are today, and anticipating what they will be tomorrow, considering she doesn’t have any issue, heir or caretaker who she can rely upon, and also considering that we haven’t even objected to the one-time alimony settlement offered by the Appellant. ”
“What about my client’s needs, My Lord?” Aditi took the opening and swooped in.
“There are multiple properties he bought over the course of his life and all he gets to keep is a 2 BHK flat and a small one-room-kitchen kholi?” Her voice rose.
“And, the Respondent demands my client move out of their current marital home immediately.”
“Considering they are separated and fighting a divorce case, that’s pretty reasonable, Advocate Doshi.” Zubin looked at her.
“Considering one of those two properties is in a dilapidated building and the other is a slum room in Dharavi, I think it’s a pressure tactic, Advocate Daruwala.”
“Pressure tactic is cancelling my client’s annual summer trip, the tickets of which were booked well before this issue started between the two.”
“What did you expect? An upgrade to First Class?” Aditi got into his face.
“Order.” Justin Deshmukh commanded. They blinked, panting, a few inches from each other. Zubin stepped back first, his blood thrumming, his heart thudding, eyes all for Aditi and mind razor-focused on arguing the hell out of this to win it for Chandni Aunty.
Justice Deshmukh narrowed his eyes at them, zeroing in on him. Don’t give me that look, Professor, Zubin screamed inside his head. As always, Justice Deshmukh looked a second longer because as always, he could see a metre too deep.
“Counsels, before you lose the plot, show this court the list of properties in the appeal.”
“The list is in Appendix 4, My Lord.”
Justice Deshmukh got busy, turning pages and gleaning through the long list. Jethmalani had amassed a sizeable portfolio of immovable assets across the city and some parts of Maharashtra and Gujarat, from commercial properties, residential bungalows and a couple of acres of agricultural lands in Gujarat.
Chandni Aunty was letting go of all the Gujarat farmlands and commercial plots.
“I see all you have left for the Appellant in Mumbai is a one-room kholi,” Justice Deshmukh glanced up at him from over his slim specs. Zubin cleared his throat — “We have also left the 2 BHK flat in Bandra.”
“Which is dilapidated under C1 and is sealed by the BMC.”
“It is going into redevelopment soon, Your Lordship, with a promise of 40% extra FSI and a sizeable corpus fund…”
“But what about Mr. Jethmalani’s living circumstances? Where will he live?”
“On rent, Your Lordship, like three-fourths of Mumbai is living right now…” Zubin answered innocently.
It was true. But apparently Justice Deshmukh didn’t like it.
Maybe because he was living on rent too, now in year five of his own building’s redevelopment, where the builder was AWOL due to a tax fraud. Zubin bit his tongue.
“Ms. Doshi,” the judge turned to her. “What is it that can make your client happy? What is it that you want, sir?”
Aditi turned to her client, who got to his feet — “Sir, I want one habitable house in the city. The Madh Island bungalow is preferable.”
“Any specific reason?”
“It’s easy for me to commute to work, and my office is already set up there. She can have the rest, I have no objections.”
Justice Deshmukh nodded, looking sympathetic.
“Mr. Daruwala,” he turned to him. "This seems reasonable, what does your client have to say to this?”
“My client objects to this, Your Lordship. The Madh Island bungalow holds sentimental value for her…”
“Wait, wait, I want to answer.” Chandni Aunty piped up behind him.
“I am managing this, Chandni Aunty,” he murmured low to her.
“No way! He got to speak, I will also speak!”
Zubin wanted to faceplant himself on the table in front of him. Instead, he looked at the judge, hoping Justice Deshmukh would prevent her from speaking. But Justice Deshmukh chose amusement today, because he nodded. “Speak, Madam.”
Chandni Aunty grinned, set her bag on the chair beside her and got to her feet.
Her bag began to fall and she clambered to hold it up, setting it on the backrest just as the sunglasses she had pushed into her hair began to slide down her forehead.
“Offo,” she chuckled, pushing them back up. “Sorry, My Lordship.”
Zubin winced.
“My Lordship, the Madh Island bungalow is very close to my heart. I love it very much. He may have bought the house but I made it home. I got it renovated. Do you know I had to change the entire plumbing of the upstairs area and that dining room was so dull with Prussian blue interiors? I got it changed to lilac pink. My heart is in that lilac pink…”
“Lilac is purple,” Zubin muttered to her.
“Yes, woh bhi! And My Lordship, I worked so hard to design it. I had the best designing firm. Bhavesh in the terrace pool, to be specific.”
“What else will he do? That’s how boring his life is!” Chandni Aunty scoffed loudly.
“And still manages to fight with my client about her mobile volume,” Zubin pointed.
“Which is connected to the house bluetooth speakers and plays loud Zumba at 5 in the morning! My Lord, the Appellant now requests the court to assign two bedrooms and the office of the house to my client as his designated residence…”
“Why would your client want to live in a home where nothing is left?” Zubin argued.
“Because he bought it, he owns it, and is still stuck in a marriage where nothing is left!”
“At least the fights are left! Some people don’t even have that!”
Aditi froze. Zubin froze inside.
Their eyes wouldn’t blink, fixed on each other’s.
“This court has heard enough.” Justice Deshmukh’s solemn, loud command echoed, breaking their stare-off. “We will reconvene to hear the demands for movable assets tomorrow. Is that ok with you both?”
“Yes, Your Lordship.”
“Ms. Doshi?”
Aditi did not answer. Zubin glanced her way, and she was staring blankly into space.
“Ms. Doshi?”
“Aditi…” Zubin called out in a low voice.
“Yes.” She snapped her eyes up to the judge. “Yes, My Lord.”
Justice Deshmukh got to his feet, tugging the lapels of his gown, eyes on him. Zubin didn’t know where to hide from that hawk gaze. He just lowered his eyes, his skin feeling cold at what had just happened. But what had just happened?
Aditi and her associate began to wind up, as did his.
“Chandni Aunty?” Zubin called out to her as she was lifting her bag. “Please wait outside for five minutes.”
She frowned. “But it’s very hot!”
“Please.”
She pouted, pulling out her hand fan and switching it on as she strutted out of the courtroom.
“Shashank, I will see you guys at the office.”
He nodded, then accepted Zubin’s case files and iPad, and left.
“Advocate Doshi?”
“Yes?” She asked, back under control.
“Do you have a minute?”
“Let’s talk later this evening. I have to go.”
“Aditi.”
“Yes?” She hissed, in a tone only he could read behind that professional facade.
“Please.”
She nodded. “I will be out in two minutes,” she told her associate, and pushed out from behind her table.
The courtroom emptied slowly. And Zubin finally took a step towards her.
“I didn’t mean it like that, Aditi…”
“What didn’t you mean?”
“You know what.”
“Spell it out.”
“You will make me crawl for it?”
Her eyes fell shut. Disappointment. And something else. Something that would make him slither if he had to.
“Aditi, I did not mean that we don’t have anything… it didn’t mean us…”
Her eyes opened. Solemn, cool brown. “It felt like it.”
His mouth opened, then fell shut. And her face crumpled. “I should go now, let’s… I don’t even know if we should even talk about this or no… or just… forget it.” Aditi began to take her steps back.
“No!” He caught her hand.
“Zubin!” She shirked it off, glancing around them. It was a courtroom they were in, even if an adjourned one.
“Sorry,” he said. “But… I… we…”
“Do you really feel we have nothing?”
“NO! How can you even think that?”
“Then what?”
“We just… we…” he stuttered.
She moved around the table and began to walk — “Not now, Zubin. Not here.”
Zubin palmed his forehead, eyeing her go. How had he messed this up in a millisecond? If he could laugh at his misery, he would be howling on the floor right now. Walking a tight rope of a divorce case with his own marriage as the pole in his hands. For what? For the thrills?
And that’s when it dawned upon him.
The reason he was walking this tight rope with a pole balanced in both hands.
Because the pole had become too heavy in the last few years.
His marriage wasn’t empty or sad or boring.
But it wasn’t him and Aditi in their purest, rawest, most honest original forms.
It wasn’t their fights or banter anymore. It wasn’t the Daru and Doshi who had started out as partners.
It was Aara’s parents tiptoeing around their basest instincts.
And at the first ray of hope of a courtroom and a fiery fight, he had lit himself up. So much so that now he was on literal fire.
Zubin took a deep breath, eyeing the deserted door that Aditi had just walked through. He had nowhere else to go from here but up, now that he had solved something so fundamentally jumbled inside him. Or at least, he hoped that would be the case.
He grabbed his mobile from the table and rounded it, striding out of the courtroom.
Lots of bullshit later, it was now time to clean up the act.
“Zubin, it’s very very hot here, let’s go to Starbucks…”
“Chandni Aunty.” Zubin stopped in front of her, sliding his hands inside his pockets.
“Yes, that’s me,” she waved playfully.
“I will ask you three questions. And you will answer them honestly, without lying.”
Her waving hand dropped.