Fishy Chronicles 52: Un-Peaceful Society

Mumbai in December is not great. After the biting cold of Amritsar, I could feel the sweat trickle down my forehead and past my ears and the uncomfortable wetness in my armpits. Anjali looked unconcerned. She was in a light pink t-shirt that had seen better days, but the only inkling I had that she felt the heat was her curly long hair bunched up on her head – she looked Rastafarian.

Worse, the Uber/Ola and pre-paid taxis were quoting outrageous fares and so we stood in a long line for an autorickshaw. Our auto guy seemed unhappy that he had to take us into the innards of Mumbai suburbia. He rode slowly in certain areas and struck up conversations with other rickshaw drivers, who were unwilling to chat but grunted monosyllables until they were able to move their rickshaws ahead. Our straggly bearded, white-uniformed, paan-chewing driver even sought change off another driver while we waited at a traffic signal. I couldn’t make out if he was friends with the next driver or that was the way they all spoke to each other – more than acquaintances in passing.

Ten minutes later, our autorickshaw driver informed us he was hungry and was going to help us get another rickshaw. I felt instant rage at being so casually offloaded. First the ex at Delhi airport (see FC51) and now this, this, this… thug. We stared at him uncomprehendingly at first and then I began to argue. But I felt Anjali hold my arm, and press it gently.

“Let’s get off. He may have pressing engagements,” Anjali said.

“Pressing engagements my ass.”

“Please let’s. The more he argues, the more his paan spittle jumps out of his mouth. Plus, he’s super unexcited about his passengers, not that I was hoping to exchange small talk. Dodging him in this confined space would be difficult.”

“They all chew paan.”

“Not all of them. Come on, let’s get out.”

We stepped out and he tossed unnecessary instructions to the group of auto rickshaw drivers massed at the side of the Western Express Highway and sped off. Our next driver was a spitter too, but he drove at top speed, avoided the bumps and potholes and didn’t feel it necessary to chat.

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This is a fictional series about the 30-something narrator who lives deep in a Mumbai suburb with her parents’ former manservant Genie and a tank of opinionated fish.

At the gate of her apartment building she is accosted by the secretary of the housing society committee, who insists she send Genie away to his hometown. The narrator gets to know that while she was away there was high drama in Peaceful Society.

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We groaned the moment we got off the rickshaw. We came face to face with Mr Duggal, Peaceful Society’s Committee Secretary (FC18). I forced myself to smile and say, "Namaste, Duggalji. How are you? Anyone being bad in the society?”

“There you are. Why you leave that man alone in your house. When you go, you should send him away.”

“Who?” I said, despite knowing he was referring to Genie, who at this moment was standing at the window of my flat and looking down, a huge grin on his face.

“The man in your flat!” he said trying to sound agitated but only looking lascivious. His dirty mind was in overdrive, likely doing gymnastics.

“Er, Genie?” I said.

“Eh, how can you forget his name? You’re always chatting him up, pressing him for information on her!” Anjali said annoyed, jabbing her index finger into my breast.

Mr Duggal looked nervously at Anjali. She was another unknown quantity that surrounded me. She was pretty and he stared at her openly, but she knew him well.

He turned to me and opened his mouth, but I cut him off. “Where do you want me to send Genie, Mr Duggal?”

“Send him to his hometown like everyone else sends their serva…er er.”

“Servants? Are you calling Genie a servant?” Anjali pushed herself into Duggal’s face. I looked up at my window nervously. Even when he worked for my parents, I was respectful of Genie. No one, in any way, could mistake him for a servant.

“No. No. Please calm yourself, Madam. But you must not have a man staying alone in your flat. People will talk.”

“If he’s alone, what is there to talk about!”

Duggal turned his face and body towards me, “Please, dearie, you must ask him to go to his hometown when you go on holiday.”

“Not feasible considering how often she travels,” Anjali crossed her arms, narrowed her eyes and glared at Duggal. He moved back a step.

“I don’t know, Duggalji,” I pulled Anjali back next to me, “I don’t know where his hometown is. He might get offended if you keep calling him a servant. Besides, I think he had work here.”

“Arrey, people talk. How come you don’t know where his home town is?”

“I never asked,” I lied. I was tired of asking.

Anjali’s mouth opened to give Duggal and I a tongue lashing, but Genie was now at the building’s entrance and smiling at us. Mr Duggal turned, and gave a nervous start. Genie came up to us slowly, his eyes moving quickly over our angry faces and over the nervous secretary.

“Saying nice things about me, Duggalji?” Genie gave the secretary a winsome smile.

“Er, I was asking her about her holiday. Where did you go, my dear?” Duggal turned to me.

“Jaisalmer. We rode camels all day,” Anjali said.

“Accha…” Duggal opened his mouth to ask more questions, but Genie had pulled Anjali’s knapsack off her shoulders and grabbed my strolley and marched off. We smiled at Duggal and hurried behind Genie and giggled in the lift.

“It’s surprising how tongue-tied Duggal is around you,” Anjali said.

“He wanted me to send you away while I’m out of town,” I said.

“Surely he doesn’t mean that,” Genie murmured, smiling.

“What happened while I was away?”

“I brought lots of women to the apartment and had a party every day.” The lift door opened and he stepped out, unimpeded by our luggage. I stared at his back, wondering why Duggal was agitated and nervous.

“Seriously. What set him off?”

“HEY!!! What did you get us!!” Fish screamed as I entered. They screamed other things as well, and I went to them and pressed my face to the outside of the tank for their noisy kisses. I rushed into the kitchen, washed my hands at the tap, opened the fish tank’s lid and slid my hands in. I had missed my babies. They brushed my hands, snuggled into my palms and we chatted and murmured and cooed. When I realised things were quiet behind me I turned to see where the other two were. Anjali’s hands were holding her mouth and she was laughing silently and Genie was grinning. I glared at them and straightened.

I dried my hands and fed Fish a little of the snacks I brought them. When a smelly bubble popped, I stopped. I couldn’t make out who had farted. I put away the eats and turned to Genie.

“Are you going to tell us what happened?”

He placed three mugs of tea and some puffs on the coffee table and sat, fidgeting until he found his comfortable spot. “You remember the security guards that Duggal always had issue with?”

“Yes. We discussed all this at the last AGM, Duggal wanted them out and won a feeble majority when the Society voted.”

“Well, the society got rid of the security guards and hired new ones.”

“Yes, yes. We got a circular to that effect.”

“The new guards didn’t turn up.”

“What!”

“Yup. And the Singh home got robbed.”

“What! Which ones?”

“The ones in C-606.”

“They have the German Shepherd and Labrador?”

“Yes. That family. The home was cleaned out. Mr Mendonca saw the open door and called the chairman and the police.”

“Shit!”

“That’s not all. Duggal couldn’t get replacements, and the old guards asked for 50% pay hikes and to be reinstated. He refused.”

“They were giving the new guards 50% hikes, but Peaceful Society didn’t give the old ones a hike for more than five years…” Anjali poked me and glared. “Er, and then?”

“And then another house was robbed – that young tech guy who’s usually never about.”

“Go on, for goodness sake!” Anjali said, now totally hooked.

“We had to form groups and guard the building in turns,” Genie said. “After three days we had to rehire the old security guards, because the new ones still hadn’t turned up. Apparently, Duggal had massive fights with a few local security agencies because they couldn’t send people quickly enough, so some agencies aren’t responding to his calls.”

“And did the old guards get a raise?”

“No raise.”

“What?”

“Sadly, no. Some of the society members tried to get the committee to give the old guys a pay hike, but the Secretary and the Chairman were adamant. Once the guards realized they were still going to get their old salaries, they took off en masse. So now, Mr Duggal is in hiding and the men are taking turns to guard the building.”

“So why does Duggal have his panties in a knot over you?” I asked. “He wanted me to send you to your hometown. Besides, the cops will find out who it was soon, unless the goons were covered and the footage is no good.”

“There is no footage.”

“What? Why not?”

“Some of the cameras don’t work. And some were damaged before the robberies – facts we came to know later. And no one expected another robbery to occur right under the cops’ noses immediately after the first.”

We were silent. Genie nudged our cups of tea towards us. Sometimes he acted like a butler, and at others oozed charm like Agent 007.

“What has all this got to do with you, Genie?” I asked.

“I suggested some of the able men in the society help me guard the society till reinforcements were available. But Duggal and the Chairman refused.”

“But why?!”

“I have no idea,” Genie shrugged. “But Mrs Duggal, Zeba and a number of members agreed and the society asked for volunteers. And you know women outnumber men in the new society committee… right?”

“Right.”

“And the women out-voted the men…” Anjali said.

“Right… there are only three men in the committee now – Shah, Duggal and D’Souza.”

“And five women in the committee,” I said. “And with Mrs Duggal glaring at Mr Duggal all the time, that resolution must have been passed in record time.”

“Indeed. A near full majority.”

“How long will you have to do guard duty, Genie?” Anjali asked.

“Not for much longer. A friend who has an agency is sending us six guards by Saturday.”

“That’s good. I feel sorry for the old guys though.”

“Don’t be.”

“Why not?”

“I tipped my friend that the old guards were being laid off and he hired all of them. Who knew Duggal would burn all his bridges with the other agencies. I gave my friend Duggal’s number and asked him to keep my name out of it. All the old guards are coming back – after some training, new uniforms, etc, on higher wages.”

Anjali and I looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“Does Duggal know?” I asked.

“No. But he’ll know for sure when they start at 8am on Saturday.”

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