Page 94 of Made in Mumbai
“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.
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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.”
