Blowfish Page 7

  I was sorry that Chaddha felt bad. I hadn’t meant to hurt him.

  My Baby Just Wrote

  Me a Letter

  It was raining the next morning. I sat in the balcony, a cup of tea in my hand, my eyes followed the raindrops as they splattered on the grill.

  Bumbum came in with an envelope. It was white with a black and red ink sketch of a bird’s nest with a saluting soldier standing guard beside it. Maybe the soldier chap was hungry and was waiting for the mummy bird to leave. I opened the letter. It was from the office of Srijan Vihar AWHO Housing Society. It read:

  Show Cause Notice

  Dear Mr Mukundan,

  It has come to our attention that at 1000 hours yesterday you exhibited unruly behaviour in front of the Society Secretary and the Administrative Assistant in the Society’s Administration office. You screamed and deployed abusive language.

  Please make your presence available at 1030 hours, IST, at the Society office to explain your position on this serious breach of society discipline. Failing a suitable explanation, we will have no option but to evict you from the society.

  Sincerely,

  RETD COLONEL HARPAL SINGH

  Society Secretary

  CC: Retd Col. Parminder Saini, legal owner of Flat A704

  They had sent a copy to our landlord Parminder Saini aka Pappaji. This was embarrassing. I looked at my watch. It was 10.15 am. I was nervous and angry. I will tell them it was the right thing to do, I will tell them that I’m immoral and rude, I will tell them that I conform to every single stereotype they can think of when they think of ‘bachelors’.

  I reached Harpal Singh’s office at 10:30. He was not around. I asked a guard about his whereabouts. He said he should be in the play area near the badminton court. I hadn’t even noticed there was a play area there. It was a small lawn with a swing and a slide. I found him kneeling beside a toddler, smiling and talking animatedly to the kid. There were three other toddlers playing on the slide, their nannies sat on benches watching them. I walked up to him. He didn’t notice.

  The kid was looking up at something. Harpal asked, ‘What are you looking at Jagrav?’

  Jagrav said, ‘Twees, I’m looking at tweeeees.’

  ‘Trees! That’s wonderful! How many trees are there?’

  Jagrav began counting, ‘Eleventeen, twenteen, twenty-one tweeees! I can count twenty-one twees!’ he said.

  ‘Twenty-one! That’s good,’ Harpal said, ‘... and I can see a runny nose. Why don’t you blow the way I taught you to,’ he made a wheezing noise through his nose and said, ‘Blow Jagrav blow.’

  Jagrav laughed and tried to blow his nose.

  ‘Yes, that’s a good blow! Good boy!’ Harpal said. He took out a white handkerchief and wiped the kid’s nose with it. He looked around, found the maid who was with Jagrav and said to her, ‘He’s got a runny nose, don’t feed him a banana. Banana se mucous hota hai’, she grinned and immediately hid the banana peel she had in her hand.

  He must have noticed me standing by the swing. He turned back to Jagrav and said, ‘Let’s count again, shall we? Let me count this time: One, Two, Three, Four. Five trees! There are five trees Jagrav, not twenty-one.’

  Jagrav didn’t seem convinced, ‘No, not five … let’s twy again,’ he said and he began counting, ‘Eleventeen, twenteen, twenty-one tweeees!’

  Harpal got up. He was laughing, ‘All right, there are twenty-one twees and a snotty nosed Jagrav,’ he said.

  I said politely, ‘Sir?’

  ‘Yes, myself Harpal Singh, may I help you?’ he asked as if he didn’t recognize me.

  ‘Mr Singh, I came to your office yesterday and I got this letter today morning,’ I showed him the letter.

  ‘Oh yes, yes … I forgot all about it,’ he smiled and wiped his face with his handkerchief. ‘Let’s go to my office, shall we?’

  I nodded. He said bye-bye to the kids and picked up his walking stick that was lying on a bench. He limped as he walked but he made sure he walked ahead of me.

  ‘Do you have children?’ he asked.

  ‘No sir, I’m not married,’ I said.

  ‘Kids are wonderful. My grandson Shontoo, he is four. My son, his wife and Shontoo live in Singapore. My son is very busy, can’t come here often but I met Shontoo two years back, he nearly cured my knee by just sitting on it. Children are miraculous.’

  He turned to look at me. I nodded and smiled awkwardly. He shook his head, ‘You won’t understand this. Anyway, come in,’ we had reached his office.

  ‘I received this letter. I thought I’d drop by to explain,’ I said after we sat down.

  ‘Yes, that’s why the society has sent you that letter Mr Mukundan. You have to explain your position, you insulted me in front of the entire society because of a petty servant.’

  I hadn’t seen a single resident standing outside to witness Harpal being insulted but if he said so, so be it. I said, ‘I didn’t intend to sir. I’m sorry.’

  ‘What do you mean you didn’t intend to? Didn’t you shout? Didn’t you use inappropriate language?’

  I said, ‘I … I was just concerned about that boy being slapped by your guard, that’s all there is to it.’

  He softened a little, ‘See Mukundan, can I offer a piece of advice and I hope you take it seriously for your own good.’

  I nodded.

  He said, ‘These Bengali immigrant kinds, these security guard types are not the kind of people whose affairs you should be meddling in. I’m sure you belong to a good family. Tell me, what does your father do?’

  ‘He is a college professor?’

  ‘Son of a teacher, eh? Is he retired?’

  ‘Yes, he is retired.’

  ‘Brothers? Sisters?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m the only son.’

  ‘Sister?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Only offspring?’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘Where do they live—you parents?’

  ‘My mother lives in Varanasi sir, she’s a professor, and my father lives in a small town in Bihar.’

  ‘Oh, but he’s retired, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, he’s on an extension.’

  ‘Extension-vextension is all right but husband and wife should live together.’

  ‘They are divorced sir,’ I said.

  Harpal didn’t say anything to that. Silence was the standard Indian reaction to a “breaking news” like this one. He began folding a piece of paper into halves. He asked after a while, ‘What’s the maximum number of times you can fold this paper?’

  ‘I don’t know sir.’

  ‘I think it’s seven, let me try,’ he kept folding it. I watched.

  He looked up after he was done and asked, ‘What’s the name of this small town where your father lives?’

  ‘Sindri.’

  ‘I know Sindri, it’s close to Dhanbad, right?’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘Which institute?’

  I told him the name of the college.

  ‘How old is your father?’

  ‘He is sixty-four.’

  ‘Retired two years back, eh?’

  ‘Yes sir,’ I said. I didn’t know where it was headed but I had to humour him.

  ‘And he lives alone?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘Why not here with you?’

  This was it. I couldn’t take it anymore, ‘What has that got anything to do with what I’m here for Mr Singh? And yesterday … I was not the only one who was shouting, you were the one who started it—you were the loudest, and when was I rude or unruly? I don’t get it. These are false charges and you have sent a copy to my landlord. I think instead of filing a complaint, I should be …’

  ‘No, I guess I was wrong, instead of issuing a show cause notice, I should be issuing an eviction notice, shouldn’t I?’

  I had nothing much to say to that. I sat and glared at the wall.

  ‘But sir, what did I really do?’ I asked finally.

>   ‘Mr Bhandari,’ he put out his cigarette, it was an intentional pause, meant to emphasize the gravitas of what he had to say next, ‘this is a society of decent families from the armed forces. I very clearly discourage owners from renting their flats to bachelors. Now Mr. Saini has rented this flat to you in good faith—I’m sure he expects that you won’t drink till late hours, you won’t bring girls to the flat, and you won’t shout and scream at people in the society. Unfortunately, I think your behaviour yesterday was very disappointing. I have nothing more to discuss. You write a letter explaining your position. In case the letter is an apology then I may not issue an eviction notice. Please get back to me in the next one hour.’

  I nodded. He said, ‘And you should take better care of your father,’ I turned away. I didn’t wish to see his face. Who was he to tell me what do with my father? Bastard!

  I came out of his office and immediately called Chaddha.

  ‘Dude, why the fuck didn’t you tell me about this yesterday? Come up. I’m in my room.’ he said.

  ‘Oh, I thought you must’ve left. I’m coming.’ I said.

  Chaddha was in bed smoking a cigarette. It was 11 am. That was odd.

  Chaddha had helped himself to the biggest room in the house—the master bedroom. He was the one who found the flat so I couldn’t contest his right to it. His room was sparse and smelt of cigarettes and deodorant. On the floor was a purple and pink carpet that Chaddha stubbed his cigarettes in. It had been part of the ‘furnishing’ provided by the landlord and Chaddha was justifying its existence. The only thing that saved the room from being a complete dump were the lavender and light pink curtains—an installation Chaddha’s mom had put up on her last visit.

  I tripped over something as I walked in. It was Chaddha’s suitcase—a plastic red VIP that he kept on the floor, ready to be packed on a moment’s notice (Chaddha hardly travelled but he was prepared to go anywhere). Apart from the table and the bed, that was the only furniture in the room.

  I sat on the suitcase and lit a cigarette. Chaddha stubbed his on the carpet and shouted ‘Bumbum make tea for us, please.’

  ‘So Bhandari sir, what’s all this?’ he asked.

  I told him everything. When I finished, he blurted out, ‘Sir, couldn’t you possibly have refrained from getting into this? I mean, where is it getting us? We can’t afford to leave this place, can we?’

  ‘Chaddha, how the fuck was I supposed to know it’ll turn out this way?’

  ‘I agree but even then … I mean you could have exercised restraint when you knew you were dealing with idiots.’

  ‘Yes, I guess so. I’m not sure how but …’

  ‘By not saying anything … simple! Anyway, what’s done is done.’

  ‘Why haven’t you gone to office?’

  ‘Well, I meant to tell you but I didn’t get a chance …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I lost my job. They closed my unit’s operations yesterday. They gave me six weeks’ pay and told me to fuck off.’

  ‘Oh, sorry to hear that Chaddha,’ I said. We sat in silence smoking our cigarettes. He was sitting cross-legged, eyes downcast with his back to the wall.

  ‘Your parents know?’ I asked.

  ‘No, I’m hoping I’ll get another job soon. Then I won’t have to tell them. No one else knows—I’ve told this only to you and my brother and I hope you’ll keep it to yourself or I’ll fucking kill you!’

  ‘Ok. I promise.’

  ‘You know the irony? I always wanted to be in the head office. I worked so hard to be in the HO. I thought all career opportunities are here and people in Mumbai won’t get anywhere. They sacked half of the HO, they haven’t touched Mumbai. I used to feel so smug about being the star here. I thought I will make it big …’ he looked at me and smiled, ‘anyway, coming back to this mess … what do you want to do?’

  ‘I will write an apology’ I said. He nodded.

  I wrote a short apology. It was drizzling. I got wet on the way to Harpal’s office. He was sitting alone in his damp room. He pointed to the doormat. I wiped my feet and walked in. He took the letter I had written, read it and smiled, ‘Ok Mr Bhandari, you may leave now.’

  Fuck Apple

  I walked back to the lift. It had stopped raining, the birds chirped, the dragonflies flew in graceful swoops. It reminded me of an elegant white cardboard box. Why was I being reminded of a white box? The Mac! I had left it in Chaddha’s car.

  I was wobbly again. I couldn’t move. Not having money is like that. You feel paralysed. My brain ran around in circles trying to figure out how I would pay off the credit card bill that would come later in the month. Chaddha was jobless too, and Sampu was going to have a baby soon and I didn’t want to borrow from him. If I paid with what I had in my bank, then I would be left with no money.

  I went to Chaddha’s room.

  ‘Why the fuck didn’t you stop me when I was buying that stupid Mac?’

  ‘Sorry man, I was too drunk. I did tell you something about money but I’m not sure you heard me.’

  ‘Fuck!’

  ‘Sorry’

  ‘Give me your car keys. Got to get the white elephant out of there.’

  ‘Fuck Steve Jobs, fuck Apple,’ I told Chaddha before leaving.

  ‘Fuck Lehman Brothers,’ he shouted after me.

  I couldn’t find the Mac in the car. It was not on the seat or in the back. It wasn’t under the seat. The fucking thing was gone. I called Sampu. He said I wasn’t carrying anything with me when I left the car. I went up and searched the house. It was gone.

  FIR Specialist

  It was my first visit to a police station. I was nervous. Chaddha was unperturbed. That was comforting. He drove into the place as if he was driving into a resort. He even reverse parked his car.

  ‘They are like dung beetles man, the absolute fucking pits,’ he said when we got out.

  ‘Who?’ I asked.

  ‘The police, of course, who else? I’ve been in and out of police stations all my teenage life. Valmiki won’t know the Gita as much as I know about FIRs.’

  ‘Valmiki didn’t … anyway, how come you know so much about this stuff?’

  ‘Property case. Some of our rich relatives teamed up with some police fuckers and took over our property. We were evicted from our own house. Can you imagine? These people,’ he pointed at the police station, ‘are the gutter. I know how to deal with them, leave it to me.’

  ‘Ok.’

  ‘Also, if this ever comes to a court case, let me be your lawyer, ok?’

  I nodded, ‘You’ve been in court too?’

  ‘Yeah, several times, I know more about court procedure than Poland knows about invasion. I mean I used to know but I’m sure once I’m in a court it will all come back to me.’

  ‘Hmmm … interesting Chaddha, you seemed to have lived a full life.’

  ‘Yeah, when I should have been playing Contra and watching porn, I was doing the rounds of police stations and court-kachehri.’

  ‘So you didn’t play contra and watch porn when you were a teenager?’

  ‘Of course I did, at night mostly. I did a little less of it than you would have.’

  ‘Do you remember the car number?’ he asked just before we entered.

  ‘Roughly, it was something like HR26BLE or DLE and then 1639 or 1659 or 1539, I’m not sure.’

  ‘Hmmm. This doesn’t look good. Ask Sampu.’

  I called Sampu. He didn’t remember either. We went in.

  A thickset constable was sitting at a table.

  ‘Ok, before we talk to him, remember this—be calm and patient, ok? Don’t blow your lid.’

  I nodded.

  ‘How can I help you?’ the constable asked.

  ‘Sir ji, his new laptop got stolen. We are here to lodge an FIR,’ Chaddha said.

  ‘How did it get stolen?’

  ‘Some people in an SUV stopped us on Sector 44 road and stole it.’

  ‘Which SUV?’

  ‘
An Audi.’

  ‘Audi?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Which Audi? Big or small?’

  ‘It was a big black car.’

  ‘Q7 model?’

  ‘I don’t know the model name.’

  ‘And what car do you have?’

  ‘Santro.’

  ‘A Santro?’

  ‘Yes, it’s a Santro Xing.’ Chaddha replied patiently.

  ‘A Santro Xing?’ the constable smiled.

  ‘Yes.’ said Chaddha.

  ‘Ok, let’s meet the inspector.’

  We followed him into a small room at the end of the corridor. A lady inspector was sitting behind a brown desk, her face was round and bony and her hair had a middle parting with a streak of crimson sindoor.

  ‘Yes?’ she said. Her name was Rani Devi.

  Chaddha told her about the stolen laptop.

  ‘Sit down,’ she pointed to the two chairs facing her.

  We sat down. The constable stood behind us. Chaddha nudged me, leave it to me his eyes said.

  ‘What time did this happen?’ she asked.

  ‘Late night. It must have been 2 am,’ Chaddha said.

  ‘What were you doing that late at night?’

  ‘We had gone to the mall. We watched a film and were on our way back.’

  ‘Then?’

  ‘They stopped our car, they pointed a gun at us and slapped us. One of them must have taken the laptop when we were not looking,’ Chaddha said.

  ‘Whose laptop was it?’

  ‘It was mine,’ I said, ‘I had bought it yesterday. It was a brand new Apple Mac ma’am.’

  ‘Oh, so it was new, eh? Hmmm … do you remember the car number?’

  ‘HR26 BLE 1639 or 1539, one of these, we don’t remember exactly,’ Chaddha said.

  ‘What is this nonsense? They stopped you, slapped you, stole from you but you can’t remember their car number. Were you drunk?’

  ‘It was dark ma’am and they had a gun.’