Chapter 11 #2
“Almost old age,” Zubin stressed, “will still be the centre of negative conversations. Isn’t it the responsibility of this court to defend a woman’s honour in her social circle and community, Your Lordship?”
Silence.
“Ms. Doshi, are there any more demands that deserve debate?”
Aditi appeared conflicted. This was a never-ending debate, and Zubin was starting to bring in emotions that she had no logical rebuttal to. It was best she rested her case before he went into his Macbeth monologue mode.
“My Lord, all of them are absurd, but these are the major ones. Our appeal has them listed in detail.”
The judge glanced down at the appeal.
“The court will go through them all and pronounce a decision tomorrow. Mr. Daruwala, do you have anything else to say before the decision?”
“No, Your Lordship.”
“Adjourned.”
They began to push up to their feet.
“And counsels,” Justice Deshmukh said. They glanced up. “I would like to see you both in my chambers immediately.”
“Your Lordship.”
“Yes, My Lord,” Aditi nodded, and saw from the corner of her eye her sycophant husband bow his English head.
The judge moved out, and just when she thought Zubin would be in a bad mood after the pathetic tearing of his side today, plus the postponing of his lunchtime with this special summons, he surprised her by turning around and grinning at his client — “Chandni Aunty, tomorrow you are a free woman.”
Chandni Jethmalani swallowed, glaring at her husband. Her husband looked stonily at her, meeting Aditi at her table.
“Advocate Doshi,” he lowered his voice. “Do you think we will have to give in to all these demands?”
“No, Mr. Jethmalani. From my reading of Justice Deshmukh, he was done with Advocate Daruwala’s arguments today. It’s clear that this list is indefensible. And what we are asking is minuscule in comparison.”
“If it comes to it, I am ready to double the settlement but I don’t want to be tied to her after the divorce.”
“Shh,” Aditi frowned, turning around so that Zubin couldn’t lip-read her. The ass knew too much sneaky stuff in life. “Don’t say that in his earshot or he will milk you dry. Let’s meet in my office in thirty minutes and we can go over any loose ends.”
“Ok.”
“Advocate Doshi?” Zubin called out to her.
“Yes?” She whirled.
“After you.” He held one arm out, in a much better mood than he had been during the hearing. Aditi nodded at her client.
“Zain, take this back to the office and block a conference room,” she pointed to her iPad and briefs.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Aditi collected her bag and mobile and strode out of the courtroom.
Zubin was by her side in no time, matching her steps — “Remembered something?”
She bit back a smile, rolling her eyes instead. His face dropped in her line of sight as he cocked it and smirked — “Hi.”
“Shut up and walk.”
He flicked her ponytail — “Always a pleasure to walk with you, Doshi.”
Before she could snap back, he was pushing the door to Justice Deshmukh’s chambers open.
“Athawale sir,” Zubin waved at Justice Deshmukh’s typist.
“Arey, Zubin Bhau, kasha aahe? Vahini?[8]”
“Baraa, baraa. Saheb is in?[9]”
“Just came. Tumhi ja.[10]”
They made their way to Justice Deshmukh’s office and a flood of memories hit her.
She had been in these chambers innumerable times after but not with Zubin.
The first time they had been summoned here together was after their first hearing in their first-ever case against each other.
Justice Deshmukh had given them an epic dressing down, scolding them like their college professor while they had been trying to instigate and push each other under the bus. What kids they had been.
She found Zubin pinch the back of her gown and toss it higher to fly and backhanded his arm just as they stepped through the door.
“Aditi.” Justice Deshmukh’s low rebuke made her freeze.
“He started, sir.”
“Lies in the courtroom and outside, what will my daughter learn?!” Zubin gasped, closing the door. Aditi backhanded him again.
“Stop, both of you!” Justice Deshmukh thundered. They froze, gaping at him. He looked ready to grab a rifle and shoot them. His tiffin sat in front of him, still closed.
“You didn’t have your lunch yet, sir?” Zubin strode towards him. “It’s 2.30… your sugar…”
“Is plummeting, thanks to you both.” Deshmukh sir sat down on his chair, opening the small steel tiffin that Aditi knew would contain Jowar rotis, a vegetable and salad. It wasn’t protocol to be here while the judge was at lunch, but they had skipped many protocols many years ago.
“My lunch is pending too, Aditi brought my tiffin to the Bar Room.”
Justice Deshmukh’s eyes glinted. “Get it here, eat with me.”
Zubin grinned, knowing that was another protocol they couldn’t breach, even if the judge was their old college professor and a family friend. “It’s quinoa khichdi today.”
The glint in the judge’s eyes turned to scowl. Zubin laughed quietly.
“Sit down,” he grunted, grabbing his mobile and tapping it to his arm to take his pre-lunch insulin. He glanced at it and put the mobile down.
“How much is it?” Zubin-the-nosy asked.
“None-of-your-business much, that much.”
“Why isn’t your peon serving your lunch, sir?” Aditi asked as he ate right out of the tiffin.
“You think there is anything to serve in this?” He pointed down. She pinched her lips tight.
“We can come back after you have eaten…” she tried, sensing the hunger monster get even worse after the first bite of food that she knew had no gud, no oil, no coconut — all things dear to the judge and forbidden by his wife.
“Good idea.” Zubin pushed up from his chair.
“Be seated.”
“Yes, sir.” He thumped down.
“What is this circus you both have going on in my courtroom?”
“Meaning, sir?” Zubin frowned.
“Daruwala, if you try this acting one more time…”
“I argued my case with complete honesty and…”
Aditi snorted.
“She is laughing at me, sir. Tell her, if you are scolding anybody, it should be her.”
“I am scolding both of you. Is something wrong between you two?”
Aditi opened her mouth but the judge held one hand up — “I am nosy enough and shameless enough to ask you to your face.” He looked at Zubin. “What is happening at home that you are coming in the veil of a divorce case and taking shots at each other?”
“There is nothing wrong, sir.”
“Then what was today?”
“What? It was in the last-to-last hearing.” Zubin blurted. Then puffed air out of his mouth.
“You and your big mouth,” Aditi muttered to him. He glanced at her — “Your Lordship, Mrs. Daruwala will take over now. I rest my case.”
“Both of you, for the next five minutes, will talk like normal responsible adult human beings with a daughter at home. Something is wrong, what is it?” The judge sat back, food half-finished.
Aditi glared at Zubin. He stared at her.
“Look here, both of you.”
They turned to Justice Deshmukh.
“Spit it out now.”
Aditi kept her mouth shut, because she knew that Talkative Daruwala wouldn’t be able to keep it in for long anyway. She was right.
“Sir,” he sighed. “It’s nothing wrong as such. We are good. Really good. But… the thing is, I realised something when this case came up. And I wanted to put it to the test and see. Very subconsciously, might I add.”
“With real stakes involved in a divorce case where both parties are over 60? Daruwala, are you mad?”
“Certifiably,” Aditi muttered under her breath, getting Zubin’s cocked brow.
“It is not like that, sir. I did not take this case with a conscious intention of doing it. And we are both doing this with utmost professional integrity and a solid Chinese wall between us at home. My test was different.”
“And will I have to keep beating around the bush to have Your Eminence share with the class?”
Zubin snickered, no doubt getting a kick out of Your Eminence, even when thrown in sarcasm. Aditi laughed inside. She was married to such a child.
“Sir, in the last few years since Aara was born, we have stopped fighting.”
“Bless that child.”