Fishy Chronicles 56: The Unravelling

Photo: A. Peter

The phone rang. Fish.

“Are you going to take the call?” Danny asked.

To those who don’t know, Danny was invited to Joy Uncle’s home to meet me. Except I didn’t know. To escape my relatives (FC54), I got him into my car and drove off (FC55). Now, I was on my way back and dreading the drama.

Though I was attracted to Danny, I was a mess. At the beach he had asked pointed questions and my answers seemed feeble. I drove slowly and wondered how I would make this man understand my crazy household without judging me. How would I explain Genie. How was I going to explain Fish and my need to talk to them all the time. Genie had wheeled their tank into a corner and Joy Uncle had been annoyed.

“Do you want me to pick it up? Is that the name of a man or woman?” Danny said looking at the name flashing across the screen. After a long pause, Danny said, “Just curious.”

“It’s a friend. No need to pick up the phone.”

But the phone wouldn’t stop ringing and finally Danny answered it. “Hello… Hello… Hello, is anyone there?”

I tried not to smile, I had heard a babble in the couple of seconds Danny swiped to answer and put the phone to his ear. He had heard the noises too and looked puzzled when no one spoke.

He switched it off and put my phone on the dashboard. It started ringing again. He answered again and there was silence. He stared at the screen and then looked at me and I smiled involuntarily. “I think the person isn’t going to talk to me.”

I nodded, smiling.

“Who’s Fish?”

I shook my head and concentrated on the road.

“A boyfriend?”

“No.”

“A colleague… an ex colleague?”

“No.”

“A lady friend with an unfortunate name?”

I laughed. “No. Sorry, just a friend.”

“Why didn’t he talk to me?”

I frowned. Just like a man to misunderstand… to assume it was a man. But the ‘men’ in my fish tank outnumbered the lady – four to one. “I don’t know. Very shy. Don’t like strangers.”

“Is he a relative?”

“Yes... a very close one.”

“Oh. Family know him then.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“What manner is that?”

“Er, the family won’t speak about him because he’s had issues… and has multiple personalities – he thinks he’s several people. It’s really complicated. Please don’t tell anyone. The family gets upset when I talk to Fish.” Technically all true. Everyone got upset when I talked to Fish. The family thought I had mental health challenges because I spoke to Fish and they had names. And no one, except for Genie, Anjali and my cousin Roma, knew how frequently we spoke. Plus, Fish were all full of personality.

“Righttt. Is Fish at your Uncle’s place?”

“Yes. I mean, no. You’ll probably see… him… but not notice. No one talks about him. He’s a dirty secret.”

“What’s his real name?” Danny said, after staring at the speeding and slowing trees from his window. I tried to weave in and out of traffic. I had got a call from Elsa Aunty, reminding me to come home. By her nervous tone I knew Joy Uncle was working himself into a rage. I dearly hoped Rajiv and Beasty would bear its brunt.

“Oh… don’t really know. Fish became his pet name.”

“That’s strange. Close family would know each other’s names.”

“Yes. But I call many of my cousins by their pet names, and don’t know their Christian names…”

“Hmmm.”

“What do you do, Danny?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, where do you work and live, etc, etc. Do you have kids?”

“Aha. Finally! You’ve started asking the questions you were supposed to ask.”

“I don’t think you asked me those questions.”

“I did, but you shut me down. Plus, you didn’t give me specifics.”

“Like?”

“Kids? Etc.”

“Beasty Aunty didn’t tell you?”

I heard a chuckle. “Do you mean Betsy Aunty? Beauty’s mom did.” Mercy Aunty was my cousin Rajiv’s mother-in-law.

“Basically, you know everything about me and I know nothing about you.”

Danny nodded, not ashamed at the inequity of the situation. “Yes. I know you’ve been divorced a few years. No kids. You have, or had, a job, and you live by yourself.”

“Bravo. Now your turn.”

“I’m divorced. No kids. I have a job in Chennai, but I have moved around.”

“Didn’t you want kids?”

“I was married only about a year.”

“Oh?”

We were silent for a while, until I asked, “Why did it end so quickly?”

“I found out she was in love with someone, but was forced into a marriage with me.”

“So… you divorced her for being in love with someone before you?”

“No. We were emotionally distant. Plus I was in the US, and I couldn’t take her with me immediately. And…”

“And?”

“And she couldn’t get along with my parents.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My in-laws had hated me, they had made my life a living hell, but I had stuck it out. Our marriage had still unravelled.

“Er, that’s grounds for a divorce? Wouldn’t things have improved once she’d got to the US?”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?”

“Yes. If she’d been able to forget him. But she couldn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“She told me.”

It sounded like bullshit to me. “Er, and then what?”

“Nothing. We agreed to part.”

I had no words because it sounded complicated. But what could a divorcé really say about divorce that sounded positive. It sounded bad any which way you approached it – you were a born failure for not sticking it out. My phone rang again.

“I think you should pick up the phone,” Danny said.

“Why?”

“Maybe Fish wants something urgently.”

“I doubt it.”

“You said he was very delicate.”

“I did?”

“Yes.”

“Right. I’ll talk to them when I get back.”

“Him.”

“Him who?”

“Fish!”

“Oh.” I finally remembered I had squeezed all five of my darlings into one disturbed individual.

Danny grabbed my phone, pressed the green answer button and pushed the phone into my ear. “Hello, Fish, I’ll talk to you at home.”

“What’s wrong with right now?” Penaaz demanded.

“Is he any good?” Portas said.

“Genie’s gone,” Dimitri said mournfully. “He didn’t say anything before he left.”

“He won’t pick up his phone. Why is that yob picking up yours?” Pervez said.

“He’s not a yob,” I defended Danny weakly, afraid he would hear Fish’s side of the conversation. “Where are you calling from? The sitting room?” I hoped they wouldn’t draw attention to themselves at Uncle’s place. Fish talking on a phone in a fish tank would instantly attract the wrong kind of attention.  

“We’re hiding behind the shrubs. When are you back? Uncle and Beasty look chuffed with the state of affairs. Everyone was happy to hear you took Danny away in your car. Looks like they have a wedding all planned out. Are they on the right track, my dear?” Gregory, the smartest fish in the tank, asked.

I glanced at Danny, who was watching me. “Er, I don’t know. I’ll talk to you when I return.”

“Is it too early to say?”

“Yes.”

“Then you didn’t like him.”

“I can’t really say.”

“Never mind. Avoid the pot holes, you don’t want him to call you a woman driver.” Gregory ended the call despite the protests in the background.

                                               ******

This is a fictional series about the narrator, her parents’ former man Friday Genie and her former pet fish. They have followed her to her uncle’s home to find that she has been ambushed by a potential suitor - a play sneakily set up by her uncle Joy.

Only matters come to a head when she is questioned about Genie.

                                                ******

I rang the doorbell nervously.

“Well, well, well, the prodigal daughter returns,” Rajiv opened the door wide.

I groaned. There was a large silent audience staring at us. Everyone looked like they were ready to burst.

Aunty waved us all towards the dining table. Danny washed his hands and immediately sat next to Anjali. Beauty pushed me into the chair beside him. I usually helped to serve, eating with my cousins later, but today Roma and her sister-in-law Beauty were serving and the elders and Danny’s parents sat at the table with us.

It was uncomfortable because Danny’s parents and my great uncle and aunt kept smiling at us. I remembered the day I met my ex. It had been more promising and the mood very light when we had had our chat. I had smiled and blushed. I was not blushing now. If anything, I was leery of any sort of commitment.

But it was what Danny started asking Anjali that had me breathless. He asked her what she did. “Oh, a writer. Does it pay?”

“Yes. So far.”

“Where do you live?”

“Near Almora. I’ve rented a place there.”

“So how come you’re in Mumbai?”

“I have work with my publishers. Plus I wanted to spend more time with her,” she gestured at me, “after Amritsar.”

“Amritsar?”

“Yes. We were there about a week ago.”

“Your husband too?”

“Husband?” Anjali watched me choke on my cutlet. Roma slapped my back hard – with unnecessary anger, I thought.

“Yes. The fair man with the long hair… Genie? Where is he?”

“He’s not my husband… and he seems to have gone home.”

“But she said…” Danny’s thumb pointed in my direction. There was a killer silence forming and my relatives had stopped eating.

“I assure you, Genie is not my husband,” Anjali said, mulish in her denial. I should have remembered Anjali would never lie for me. Only I never thought Danny would ask.

“He’s your boyfriend?”

“If it gives you a thrill. Sure, why not,” Anjali smiled, her dimples dancing, and now for the first time enjoying herself amidst these difficult people.

“Who told you Genie is Anjali’s husband?” Beasty Aunty demanded, a small bit of chicken shooting out of her mouth. Danny moved his head to avoid it.

“She did,” Danny pointed at me again.

“He’s her servant,” Rajiv said from the other end of the table.

“Not a servant,” Anjali shook her head emphatically.

“Genie Uncle is staying in Aunty’s house,” Aditya, Roma’s little son, said helpfully into the silence.

“Which Aunty?” Danny smiled at Aditya.

Aditya pointed at me.

A commotion broke out – Joy Uncle and Beasty Aunty talking loudly at the same time, Danny’s parents looking disturbed and talking to themselves and then turning to Elsa Aunty.

“Silence!” Joy Uncle shouted and then turned to me, “Explain yourself, child!”

“Sorry, I-I couldn’t figure out how to explain Genie…” I said, trying to hold Danny’s gaze. Anjali looked at me, the question in her eyes. Why did you say such a dumb thing?

“Genie… used to work for my parents. He was like a man Friday. He lived with us,” I babbled.

“Highly unusual, don’t you think? People would put a different twist to it… now that your parents aren’t around,” Rajiv smirked.

“Like the twisted way you are,” Anjali bristled. “Just any which way it can sound dirty.”

“It reeks of dirty without having to say it!”

“Shut up, you two! You!” Joy Uncle turned to me. “How long is Genie staying?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“Well tell him to leave. It’s been long enough!”

“How long exactly?” Beasty asked.

“None of your business,” someone muttered.

“Who said that! How rude! Show your OUCH!” Beasty swatted her face and hit her nose hard. “OUCCHH! You have mosquitos here. Kill them! Kill them!”

“NO!” The tank lid flew open, hit the wall behind it and slammed shut again. Bubbles filled the tank, a low angry roar coming from the tank and I heard some choice swear words.

I stood up. Nobby! I could see my sweet darling mosquito and a couple of his friends biting Rajiv, Beasty and Joy Uncle with a vengeance.

Samir, Rajiv’s son, came running with a large electric fly swatter. “No, Samir, no! Give me that.” I pulled it out of his hands. Rajiv stood up and grabbed the bat from behind me, viciously pinning me against him in a most unpleasant way. “Let me go, you asshole!”

He shouted in my ear, “What is this business with the mosquitos! You never kill them, they are always in your house and they never seem to bite you!”

I tried to jab my elbow into Rajiv, but he was stronger and enjoying the uneven fight.

“Stop it, stop it!” Aarav and his mother tried to push his uncle away. I heard chairs skidding back and suddenly Rajiv yowled in pain and my neck was free of his vicious grip. I fell into Baby Uncle’s arms and we lost our balance and we fell against Joy Uncle, who gave us a mighty shove backwards.

“You idiot!” Joy Uncle shouted at me. He looked up behind me and closed his mouth slowly. Danny had a tight hold of Rajiv and towered over him. His eyes bored into mine. Rajiv and Anjali were looking daggers at each other standing next to Danny.

I shrank from the coldness of Danny’s look. I moved closer to Baby Uncle. “There’s nothing between Genie and me. We’re friends. He’s staying with me while he sorts out his business.”

“What business?” Joy Uncle asked. It was a strange, calm tone. Anjali looked at me. She had noticed it too. Uncle had wanted this all along. It was a brutal way to confront me. I felt pity for Genie.  

“His business. H-his many businesses. If my friends want to stay with me, I’m not going to stop them.”

“Why him?” the question was from Danny. “Don’t you know how it looks.”

I opened my mouth trying to think. “I can’t explain it in an acceptable way to you. He was there when my parents and I needed him the most.”

“Was he the reason your marriage ended?”

“No.”

“Is he going to move out soon?”

My eyes darted to Anjali. “I can’t say… I haven’t asked him.”

“That has to be an extraordinarily useless answer! Full of anything you want to make it,” Rajiv said spitefully.

“Goat,” someone said.

“Who said that!” Joy Uncle shouted, upset at the spate of insults directed at his favourite child.

“You’ll never know.”

“Show yourself!”

“Shut up!”

Uncle screamed in rage, a maniacal sound, and turned around, his fury fizzling out quickly when he saw his grandchildren clinging to their mothers and the blank disturbed looks all around him. Elsa Aunty pulled timidly at his arm, softly begging him to stop. Anjali was now in front of me, pushing off Baby Uncle’s arms and putting hers around me and hugging me tightly. I felt so grateful someone was there for me. I looked at Danny and felt unnerved. His face was angry. Would he ever believe me?

Beauty cleared her throat, “Let’s all sit down… and… finish the meal. Mummy and…” Beauty’s head tipped in my direction, “went to a lot of effort to… cook it.”

No one moved. Beauty glared at her husband Rajiv. But it was Baby Uncle who began to push his wife towards her chair and showed Danny’s parents back to theirs. Danny moved to his chair and Anjali and I followed.

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence.

                                           ******

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.

                                                ******

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.

                                                 ******

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.”

                                                ******

Fishy Chronicles 51: A Nasty Encounter

I pressed the button at my elbow and the car window slid down quickly. Ice-cold air hit us and I hurriedly raised the window until a thin slit allowed the air to blow across the tops of our heads and ease the suffocation I felt in the closed space. The Sikh driver’s eyes met mine in his rearview mirror. I looked at Anjali beside me in the car, but she seemed unconcerned. She was probably used to the cold in the hills. I had spent time with her twice, but hadn’t cared for the lack of amenities. Now we were on our way to Amritsar’s international airport at 5am.

“How did you find out I was going to Amritsar?” I asked Anjali.

“Roma.”

“What would you have done if I had cancelled the trip?”

“Gone by myself,” she grinned.

“So easy, is it?”

“Yes. But I wanted to spend time with you, so I’d have told you eventually… that is if Roma and Genie hadn’t been able to convince you to carry on with the trip.”

That seemed how it would have panned out. “Do you want to do anything specific in Mumbai?”

“I’ve got some meetings. But I thought we could go to the beach and do some time pass with Roma, Georgy permitting, of course.”

“You think he’ll permit?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Do you think he’s becoming more possessive of Roma?”

“Not really.”

“He’s more demanding now.”

“Why do you say that, Anjali?”

“When Roma asked if she could join us at Amritsar, he nearly blew a gasket. Then he told his parents, who had a thing or two to say.”

“Shit.”

“Yes. Roma wouldn’t tell me what they said, but she said she didn’t speak to Georgy for two days.”

“Why didn’t she say something to me?” I asked, feeling bad for my cousin.

“You have your own problems,” Anjali said.

“Still... she could always take a break with me. I’m not judgy, especially where her in laws are concerned.”

“True. But I think you were the reason they had a fight.”

“She told you?”

“No. She wouldn’t say and you know Georgy and his parents – they have a thing for you… and ‘your ways’.”

I couldn’t disagree because it was true. As far as my cousin’s in laws, the Kurians, were concerned, and even though I was younger and Roma was too difficult to sway, I was a bad influence in every sense – divorced, their grandchildren adored me and I was painting the town red just by being single. And, now, I was apparently being waited on hand and foot by my parents' handsome former man Friday, Genie, and, in all probability, was indulging in immoral activities. Clandestinely. I was debauched and pulling the wool over the eyes of every God-fearing Christiani relative I had.

I felt a sharp poke in my side. “I do not know how Roma married Georgy… but if she had taken a good look at her in laws I’m sure she’d have run. Fast,” Anjali said, forgetting that she had told me this several hundred times.

I couldn’t understand what Roma saw in Georgy either. Or his family. But now it was too late. And unlike me, she was not a quitter. And unlike me, her in laws were scared of her, which was worth chicken shit.

“Like they say, get your head out of the gutter and live your life,” Anjali mumbled absently.

I felt riled. “Who are they?”

“The universe. My guru.”

“You don’t have a guru.”

“Right. But we give too much importance to society and the people around us.”

“You have to if you want to live among them. There’s a hierarchy and codes and rules.”

Anjali still looked out of her side of the window, but she took a deep breath and her mouth tightened. She turned her head sharply, “Do you want to marry again?”

Yes! No. She glared at me – angry at my indecision – her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flaring. She was angry with me, because of me, for me. Many years ago I had sought her out in Almora, in Uttarakhand, spending two weeks hiding from people, hoping and praying that I would disappear off the face of the earth... unable to deal with the mess my life had become. She had spoken to me, put her work on hold, walked about with me endlessly, understanding of my nervous, tortured energy, and then sat in the train with me on my journey home. And all through she had told me to “leave him". 

I hadn’t.  

And I had paid for it dearly.

                                                          ******

This a fictional series about the 30-something narrator. She is making her way back to Mumbai with her best friend Anjali when a person from her past reappears. She seems predestined to cross swords with him again. 

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“Can you believe it. The connecting flight’s been delayed again!” Anjali stomped off to speak to an airport official. She looked at peace when she returned. “The guy at the counter said we’d have to wait two hours. He wouldn’t say why. But I’m guessing it’s that,” she said tilting her head at the tall windows. Outside, the tarmac was barely visible under a thick haze. Probably smog. I was glad we were in the airport and not venturing out because the air was very bad. 

We walked about Indira Gandhi International Airport and had a leisurely meal at one of the restaurants and then settled into a couple of seats near our boarding gate. My attention drifted to a small boy who was spread-eagled on the floor. He was screaming and refusing to be picked up by the elderly woman, dressed in a sari and bulky sweater, accompanying him. Something about the woman seemed familiar, the fat bun, the gait, the perfect teeth bared in a snarl. And it struck me just as Anjali sat up straight and grabbed my arm. A tall, well-built man immediately went up to the child, yanked him off the ground by one arm and shook him angrily. Anjali’s grip tightened. I felt sick, and sorry for the child. 

A young woman, holding a baby, stood up and tried to pull the child away from her husband. People watched silently as the man bent and spoke menacingly into the child’s face all the while shaking him. I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat, reluctant to get up and do something. The elderly woman looked around casually and exclaimed, pointing in our direction. Her husband stood to have a better look at us. The young lady holding the child looked distressed and I felt intense pity for her.

Anjali and I stared back at them. We sat still. I felt numb and then anger slowly invaded my being. Relieved too that he wasn’t my husband any more. He stared at me, giving me a dirty look and then I heard and saw the people near us titter and smile. 

I couldn’t believe what Anjali had just done. She had formed her mouth slowly into an exaggerated pout and a loud kissy sound emerged. She grinned mischievously at my former family some way off. Disbelief spread over my ex's face and those of his parents. I couldn’t help it, I grinned too. 

The next thing I knew Anjali had balled her right hand into a fist, raised it up and with her other arm supporting it, jerked her fist upwards twice. I grabbed her arm and pulled it down before she could repeat the rude gesture a third time. But it was too late, the ex was in a rage and charging towards us. People turned around to watch, wondering what was going on.

I stood up in fright, but Anjali stayed seated, one leg over the other, staring calmly at the bull-headed pig. “Come on, Anjali, get up. UP! GET UP!” I screamed in fright, memories of this man’s evil temper rushing back. I tried to pull her out of her seat, but she was unmoved and pushed my hand away.

I stood still. I could not run away from my friend. My ex was by our side now, but Anjali’s calmness had thrown him and though he was livid he stood a respectful distance away.

“You bit… you! How dare you!” And he tore his gaze away from Anjali and glared at me furiously.

“You-you married again?” I stuttered, trying to deflect his attention from Anjali.

“What does it look like, you moron!” he snarled, spittle trying to escape his mouth.

“Just thought it’d have been a good idea if you’d got a vasectomy first.”

There was a stunned silence, and then someone laughed and he roared abuse and lunged at me. I screamed and jumped out of the way and in a couple of seconds he had tripped and fallen hard on his face. I realised soon that it was Anjali’s foot that had tripped him. He flailed in the small space between the chairs, trying to disentangle himself from the straps of various bags. Anjali threw my knapsack at me, grabbed her bag, stepped on his back and we ran as fast as we could. 

But we needn’t have worried.

Some men had now surrounded him and I could hear raised voices and someone shouting for security. We stood and watched from a distance. When a policeman started walking towards the crowd, Anjali pulled me away and we moved into a toilet and stayed hidden. About 15 minutes later, I held out my compact to see what was happening. There was still a group standing, though things had quietened considerably. I could see an airport security official giving my ex and his family a stern lecture and some male passengers standing close by and listening. 

When the ground staff called out our flight number, we watched people walk into the gate in single file. I could see the ex looking around him, trying to catch sight of us. His mother pushed her daughter in law and grandchildren ahead of her, her husband followed and then, reluctantly, her son. But the crowd around my ex husband looked at him coldly, and I could see the wariness in his body. A rare emotion.

A hand slapped my bottom and Anjali grabbed my arm and pulled me along with her. We smiled and nodded at the lady scanning the holograms on our tickets. 

I felt tense. “We’re on the same flight.”

“Yes.”

“You’re not scared, Anjali?”

“No. Why should I be?”

I stopped and glared at her. Anjali threw her head back and laughed. “What’s he going to do to us? Hit us? Shout at us? Scream? He’ll get arrested. How will he show his face to his neighbours and in church if he does, huh?”

Brilliant girl! “But what if he does come to our seats and…” Anjali’s index finger pressed my lips shut and she was smiling.

“Try to stop thinking, darling. If he wants to let off steam, he can. It would be fun to hear him. Do I think he’d do it in a crowded plane and court chances of an arrest. Absolutely not. So, if he comes around give him a spiel on a double vasectomy – as softly as you can, with a smile on your face. If you can. Okay?”

I nodded. That I could do. I had a repertoire I had perfected over years, always hoping I’d meet him one day and share it with him. Today seemed to be the day.

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