Fishy Chronicles 64: Lockdown Diaries: Love Hurts

“Look, dear,” Aunty Glory said when I started clearing away the breakfast dishes. “Genie and Anjali have kissed and made up.”

I dropped a cup of fine China and Uncle John steadied the plates that started clattering in my arms. “Careful, my dear. They’re not beyond a little spying either,” he tilted his chin in the direction of my building. “I fear, darling,” he cooed in Aunty’s direction, “we’ve become lawless and unscrupulous.”

But Aunty hadn’t heard because she was now tottering over to the French windows and waving and blowing kisses at Genie and Anjali. The two were squeezed tightly into my tiny kitchen window looking chummy and the binoculars were dangling from Genie’s hand outside the window. Clearly they had been bonding for a while and watching the world from their vantage point. I wondered why they couldn’t have done the same in the more spacious faux-French windows in the sitting room. They waved and blew kisses in Aunty’s direction.

Aunty was right. Something had made things okay between the beauty and the beauty… or the two beasts – I couldn’t decide which one was the beast and both were beautiful to me. I wondered what had happened to improve things between them. But I was not keen to go back and find out. The lockdown (due to the Covid-19 pandemic) had been making me lethargic and cranky and the brief period I got lurking about outside in the guise of delivering food made me feel lightheaded.

At the kitchen sink, I scrubbed the plates and looked around, wondering what to clean. I had swept and swabbed the Gonsalves home yesterday, and they had been upset but very grateful. “It will give you some exercise, pumping your heart – in a good way,” Anjali had told me a few days ago, when I had returned home sweating like a pig after such a workout. Sweat had poured and I felt it uncomfortably everywhere – like watery pools on my scalp, trickling past my ears, into my eyes, sticking my clothes to my skin and Anjali’s matter of factness annoyed me. However, the chance discovery of a vacuum cleaner in the G home had me doing all sorts of things with it. I even checked YouTube for tips.

I felt a body behind me and the plate I was soaping fell into the sink. I drew a deep breath trying to slow my heart rate. “A-Aunty, you’ve got to stop moving so quietly.”

“Do you remember the lovebirds in wing A (Love Thy Neighbour)? The husband of the nightshiftwali and the wife of the frequent-flyer businessman?”

“Yes. Has the lockdown spelt doom for their love affair?” I joked. Not nice, stop!

“Nightshift seems to suspect something.”

“What do you mean?”

“She looks at his phone when he’s not about.”

“Okay...”

“And I’ve seen her crying.”

I set down slowly the plate and scrubber in the sink and turned to Aunty. “Oh?” I felt helpless, sad feelings buffeting me boisterously. “You think she’s read something on his phone?”

“I’m not sure… I think he’s got a password to get past. She suspects something, but isn’t sure.”

“How can you say?”

“He takes his phone everywhere. The one time I saw him leave his phone behind she got hold of it, and he was back in an instant.”

“Aunty, you’ve got to stop watching and leave them alone.”

“We’ve got to tell her that her husband is having an affair!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“Stay out of it, Aunty! Nothing good will come of it.”

“Everything bad is going to fester, the good will get lost in the mess. He needs to be confronted. She needs peace.”

“I don’t think we’ll be any help. Things may sort themselves out. We may worsen things with idle insinuations. Besides, it’s the lockdown. Everyone is on edge.”

“I’d be suspicious of John if he had to take his phone with him everywhere, including the loo.”

“Thank your stars Uncle doesn’t, Aunty. That would be a pain to sanitise. But, you know, these days people take their phones into the loos all the time. They need to watch TV while they poop or read the paper.”

“Is that why you refuse to handle Anjali’s phone?”

“One of them.”

“And you’re okay touching Genie’s?” Aunty peered up into my face.

“Shee! No!” I felt like scrubbing my hands with bleach and dousing myself with Dettol. “Does he really?! How would you know, Aunty?”

“KKKK, kkk, kkkk!” Aunty laughed shrilly. When she gained control of herself, she pinched my cheeks and hugged me. “No, darling, I wouldn’t know. I can’t see into his bedroom or the toilet. I was teasing you. But why would you need to touch Genie’s phone?”

“Yesterday he gave it to me to… to charge the battery,” I said. At this rate, I’d have to watch everyone visiting the loo. Anjali had developed the habit when her publisher gave her a Netflix subscription. She had gone haywire, especially since she didn’t have a TV in the little Himalayan town she was living in. The publisher had threatened to cut the service when he realized why she wasn’t delivering her manuscript… still, to her credit, she righted herself and finished writing the book. Now, she goes on Netflix binges between books. I don’t know how she has the willpower to resist it.

“Ouch!” I glared at Aunty for pinching me. But she was shushing me with a finger to her lips, and pulling my shirt, which slipped out of my jeans. She let go and grabbed my arm and dragged me to her sitting room. Uncle John was in his armchair, unhappily reading a newspaper on his smartphone. “You can read the paper on your laptop too, Uncle.” He looked at me over his reading glasses while the thought settled. He rose slowly, observed us for a few seconds and then shuffled towards his bedroom.

“There’s a problem there, my dear,” Aunty Glory whispered, tilting her head at the family we had been spying on for some years. Initially it was unintentional. Once we understood there was a romantic liaison in progress, we were hooked – even on days when nothing happened.

We knew the lady slept away her mornings, but laboured for her family. She had a mother in law with whom she shelled peas and watched Hindi serials.

We watched the middle-aged lady in the room with her son. The husband was not visible. Maybe bathing. But the boy, probably about 10 years old, was handling his father’s phone. His mother watched from a corner of the room and they spoke. The son looked embarrassed and waved the phone at her. He assumed a fixed expression, probably playing a game, until his mother snatched the phone from his hands.

They began to argue and then, just as suddenly, the argument ended with the mother handing over the phone to the boy and going back to her chair. We watched for about half an hour, but nothing happened. I said goodbye to the Gonsalveses and left.

                                                  ******

This is a fictional series about the Mumbai-based 30-something narrator. While doing errands for her elderly friends, Aunty Glory and the narrator spy on a married couple in the next building and become party to a disturbing set of events.

                                                  ******

I looked at my wristwatch. It was past 7pm, and I had been ringing the bell for some time. I felt a frisson of fear. Were Uncle and Aunty okay? But before I could phone Anjali to get the Gonsalves’s keys, the door was unlatched.

Uncle looked serious and I moved into the dark sitting room. “What’s happening. Why haven’t you switched on the lights?”

He gestured at one end of the French windows. Aunty was watching the family across the courtyard with her binoculars. I had a sudden feeling of dread. I went over to her quickly. She handed me the binoculars and I watched the family whose habits I had come to know quite intimately. I felt a hint of shame that I was wasting my life in this fashion, but my attention was stuck on the young son.

He was hovering over his mother, clearly distressed. She was slumped in her armchair, spent from crying, her face red and blotchy and staring vacantly at a corner. In her hand was a phone. I wondered whose it was.

In a few minutes, it was clear.

The husband came in carrying groceries. His wife ignored him, but the son looked uncertain and upset. He stayed beside his mother. The father said something, but mother and son ignored him. He put the groceries on the floor in a corner of the flat and took off his mask. He put his hands on his hips and said something, but no one looked at him.

And then his body stiffened. He felt his pants pockets and realisation hit him. He went towards them uncertainly and the son moved away. His wife held out his phone. Before he could reach for it she threw it in his face and jumped up and started punching him. He tried to back away, but she rained blows on him. His elderly mother came in and tried to push her daughter in law away, but she backed away in a few minutes of the sustained attack.

Finally, the boy pushed himself between his parents. His father rushed into a bedroom and locked himself in. His wife tried opening the door, but couldn’t. She kicked the door, beat it with her fists and screamed. I hoped the invective was choice and extreme. The bastard. We could see neighbours at their windows, trying to catch what was being said. After trying to ram the door open with her body, the lady gave up and sat in her armchair and rocked herself. She looked at her husband’s phone and kept scrolling. Her frightened mother in law stood watching from the kitchen doorway.

“What do you think?” Aunty whispered in my ear. I dropped the binoculars in fright.

“Uh… I hope she beats the shit out of him!”

“What do you think is going to happen?”

“I hope sh-she takes him to the police.”

“I doubt it.”

“Why?”

“Police won’t help. They’ll say it’s a domestic issue, say he behaved like a man, probably ask her to forgive and forget. She’s got a lot to lose. Chances are,” Aunty looked at the woman and shrugged her shoulders, “the poor thing will try and forget it. Her mother in law will counsel her. She’ll be too embarrassed to tell her own family.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I rarely see her relatives. Only his family seems to make an appearance at festivals and other occasions. She’s definitely not a Mumbaikar.”

“How can you tell?”

“She goes away with her son every year for about three weeks. When she comes back, she’s got a lot of luggage and that dining table is usually loaded with bottles of pickles or jams and mangoes and goodies for some days. Like her mother made them for her...”

“… doesn’t mean anything…”

“… I’ve never seen a parent hugging her or her hugging someone.”

Or for that matter, being happy. She seemed to be slaving all the time… for others. In a permanent rush.

“Are you two happy?” Uncle said coldly from behind us.

We whirled around. Uncle was deeply upset. “Are you happy you watched someone’s joy being snuffed out, their life suddenly in shambles? What will you do now… share and dissect and glean a bitter truth?”

He glared at us both and moved slowly around the room, switching on the lights and the TV.

I looked at Aunty. For once she looked embarrassed and defensive. We sat next to each other on a sofa and watched Uncle surf channels. He ignored us, his lips tightly pressed together in strong disapproval.

I wondered what was happening with that poor family in the next building. Did the boy know? He had access to his father’s phone and knew the password. Did he know what his father was doing over the last year or more?

The silence in the G home stretched. After what felt like an eternity, I bade good bye and left.

                                                  ******

Fishy Chronicles 21: Love Thy Neighbour

I lay awake on my bed listening to Genie move about.

I didn’t get him. I didn't know what he did. How he survived. Fish and Genie had expressed no plan, so far, to leave. It made me happy and stressed me out – I didn’t want them to go.

I sat up. Genie had told me not to come into the kitchen. That he'd be working.

“Doing what?” I asked.

“Working.”

I changed tack. “Can I help?”

He hesitated, looking at me carefully. Then he smiled and shook his head. I hung around as late as I could and finally Genie ordered me to go to bed. Somewhere things had changed between us. He was no longer my parents’ Man Friday, or took orders from me – we had become equals.

I hung around my bedroom door, trying to listen. Nothing. Finally I lay in bed and thought of my ex, my parents, my job, bad things... and then, I had that recurring thought I always did. I envied no one. I had no sadness except the gaping hole that represented my parents. I had a cousin and some friends who loved me dearly and I was slowly making myself whole.

I stood at the window and watched the neighbours. Some were awake. Two of the neighbours were having an affair. I hadn’t realised until Aunty Glory told me. One neighbour's husband travelled on work often and the other's wife worked night shifts at a BPO.

“How does it work, Aunty Glory – they’ve both got kids,” I asked. We were sitting in Aunty's sitting room, watching one of the parties in question.

“I don’t know, my dear. Maybe they lock the door.”

“Or meet somewhere else?”

“The high isn’t going to last long.”

“We can’t know that, Aunty. Do you think the spouses get signals?”

“Signals, my dear?”

“I mean, that something's wrong. That their better halves are not as good as they should be.”

“Not everyone's the way your ex is!”

“Um... that’s not what I meant.”

“That is what you meant. Marriages are difficult. Sometimes great. Sometimes awful. Sometimes equal parts nonsense and adventure, goodness and wickedness. You can’t say. But everyone wings it.”

I didn’t believe her. I believed in soulmates. Like when she swore like a sailor at Uncle John and he blew her a kiss and tried to kiss her. He bought her cigarettes, even though he was allergic to tobacco. She looked at him, a scrawny, stunted man, like he was the sexiest man in the world. And he never stopped staring at her, his eyes always shining with love.

“They’re both on drugs,” my cousin Roma told me once.

“Yeah,” said Anjali, my best friend. She passed the binoculars and half-smoked Gudang Garam cigarette to Roma. We were in my sitting room, the curtains mostly closed but slightly parted for us to spy on our neighbours. This was a rare reunion. My parents were out of town, Roma had a break from her family and Anjali was visiting. And my parents’ neighbours were more exciting than theirs.

We were spying on the actor who had moved into our society, temporarily – according to the watchman. The actor was living in with a famous older model and they were fast attracting attention for their furious fights.

In the day they had been at my home, Roma and Anjali had only watched the actor and Genie. We hadn’t had much luck otherwise.

“You should spike the drinking water here with LSD. Or something hallucinatory. Would Benadryl work? We’d need several truckloads for just one wing of this society. Maybe Genie can help us with something stronger,” Anjali said. We looked at Genie.

He grinned. My cousin and my best friend had improved Genie's mood vastly. He was mostly smiling, flirting with them and driving us about everywhere. Of course, I had to thrash out the business of ciggies and booze with him. I didn’t want him to expose my evil habits to my parents. His presence complicated things.

“You’re asking me for permission to smoke cigarettes and drink alcohol?” Genie's eyes gleamed.

“Er, no.”

“What are you asking me to do?”

“Not to tell my parents that we're drinking or smoking.”

“Is that wise?”

“What they don’t know can’t hurt.”

“Are you sure?”

“Are you going to tell them, Genie?” I felt exasperated by this roundabout conversation... and his unwillingness to fall in with my plan.

“No. But I won’t lie to them if they ask,” Genie grinned.

I was terribly annoyed, and had an amused audience behind me – Roma, Anjali and Fish. I could hear snickering from the tank. Idiots!

Roma and Anjali had told me not bother, but they were leaving once my parents returned and, heck, I had to live here. I wanted all my loose ends tied. Clearly Genie would never do anything he didn’t want to... even as a favour!

We realised that we were having no luck. So Roma and I went to bed. Anjali held back to keep watch through the curtains, but I had a strong feeling she wanted to chat with Genie.


                                 ****** 

This is a fictional series about the narrator, her former manservant and now friend, Genie, and five opinionated fish. The narrator is reliving old memories. She helps her cousin spy on a new neighbour, with unexpected results. 

                                 ****** 

I gasped in fear. Someone had grabbed my nightgown's collar and was trying to pull me off the bed. I kicked hard.

“Owww! What did you do that for!” Anjali was saying angrily. “Get up! There’s solid action happening out front!”

I could see Roma running out of the bedroom door. I sprinted.

Genie was wide awake, almost naked and at the sitting room windows too. Our building complex was still shrouded in darkness, except for the weak light from the tubelights screwed into the sides of each building and the few streetlights. There were lights slowly being switched on in some flats and people were opening either their windows or balcony doors to see.

But it was no fun looking at Genie. I could see the women of the society gesturing to each other to look at him. He was only wearing a pair of loose shorts and, I imagine, from where the women of Peaceful Society stood, he may have appeared naked.

It was probably the heat that made him go shirtless at night. Ouch!

“What the f...?” I glared at Roma.

“Look, baby. Look!”

The actor Arushmaan Verma was standing in his balcony, leaning against the door, trying to keep it shut and screaming for help.

He seemed to be bleeding from the temple. Only, no one was rushing to his aid.

I ran to my door and began to unlock it. The ladies followed me. But Genie's hands held mine tightly, making me stop.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked me.

“Going out there.” I could feel my adrenaline disappearing down a hole. “He needs our help!”

“I’ll go.”

“Bullshit. You were staring at him, not doing anything!”

“Get my t-shirt” he pointed at the chair near his bed.

“You get it yourself!”

He opened his mouth to say something more, but he was interrupted by a blood curdling scream. The three of us pushed Genie out of the way and ran down the stairs, into the courtyard, into building C and rushed up the stairs to the second floor to flat 206. Of course all of us knew which flat Arushmaan lived in!

The neighbours were standing behind their doors or peeping through their security doors.

We walked slowly, nervously, to the Verma flat. The door was closed. We were stupid for sure. I saw Shahbaz Pasha's mother. “Give me Shahbaz's cricket bat.”

“Give me your rolling pin,” Roma said.

“Give me a chair,” Anjali said.

A minute later, Mr Pasha threw everything out and closed the security door quickly. I could hear the lock turn.

Genie overtook us and was at the Verma door. “Stay in the corridor,” he ordered us.

We stood behind him and he rang the bell. After a few minutes, he rang the bell again, pressing the button for an eternity. We heard swearing from inside, and he pushed us back. The door opened and an overweight older man leered at us. Genie moved in front of us and asked for Arushmaan.

The man straightened, swore at Genie and moved into the flat, kicking the door shut. But before it could lock, Genie put his foot into the doorway and held onto the door.

The man didn’t notice what had happened and was already on his way to an armchair in front of the TV.

He looked irritated, but in a second all our attention was on the two people sitting on the sofas. They - the model and another woman - had passed out.

The man, who unknowingly let us in, was now sitting in the armchair in front of the TV, with the volume on full blast. We waited for him to turn and see us. A shattered bottle, and some blood, was on the ground. From a side room we could still hear Arushmaan screaming.

Genie went to the man near the TV. He didn’t turn. His head tipped forward – the man was falling asleep!

Genie stepped into the bedroom and knocked on the balcony door. “It’s Genie here, from building A. You want to come out?”

“He’s still screaming. Let me talk to him,” I said, pushing Genie out of the way and not succeeding. He stepped away from the door.

I banged the door with my fist, “Arushmaan, I’m your neighbour. You’re safe now.” I tried to pull open the door, but Arushmaan was still holding on to it, keeping it shut and crying.

After a while, his hold slackened and the door opened. He saw me and started coming into the bedroom, but stumbled on the doorstep and fell on me. Genie quickly pulled him off and dragged him to the sitting room, where he proceeded to scream again when he saw the others.

He quietened as soon as he saw Roma come in through the front door. She crouched near him and told him everything was going to be fine. The other man was still sleeping, his beer bottle balanced precariously in his lap.

Anjali pushed a chair near the actor and started tending to his wound. She had managed to get a First Aid kit. “You’ll need to get this checked. It's deep and may need stitches. Shall we take you to a hospital?”

Arushmaan shook his head. Genie stood in front of him, “We need to go to the hospital, boss.” But there was another commotion and Genie made way for a police constable. Now, many neighbours were crowding the doorway.

We hung around for a bit, only because we were ordered to by the police. Towards sunrise, they let us go.

                                 ****** 

Who could sleep after that tamasha.

We had endless cups of tea, each of us taking turns to make it. When Genie protested our tea-making, Roma brushed him off and said, “We’re partners in crime. Take the day off. Enjoy our company.

“What do you think it was all about?” I asked no one in particular.

“They're on drugs,” Roma said. We laughed.

Roma shrugged, stretched out on the floor, her arms supporting her head, dreaming. Every now and then she rose slightly and turned to take a sip of her tea.

That glassy look – she was in a good place.

“What are you thinking about, Roma?” Anjali put my thoughts into words.

Roma took a deep breath and smiled. She stared at the ceiling and said slowly. “For a long time, I though Arushmaan Verma was the hottest man in the East.”

We laughed, but Roma sighed and continued to stare at the ceiling.

“And?” Anjali prodded.

“And even though I married, Arushmaan was the man that crept into my dreams.”

“Join the club.”

“But...”

“But?”

Roma turned onto her side and propped herself up on one arm, her eyes moving to Genie.

“Just so it’s clear, Genie, I hope what I say doesn’t offend you or sound condescending. I’m going to shoot my mouth off.”

Genie blinked quickly, “Okay.”

“Yesterday, I hated what I saw. Arushmaan was cute, but if I have to holler and swear at my sexy man toy from another balcony and see him crying and snot coming out of his nose – he’s going to fall off a very tall pedestal fast!”

We laughed.

“It's not Aunty Glory that’s on drugs,” Roma continued. “Those buggers in C-206 were up to their eyeballs in some serious shit. I don't know how Arushmaan got hurt, but that relationship is in deep trouble.”

We were quiet for a long time.

“Is he off your list of hotties, Roma?” Genie asked. He grinned when we looked at him in shock.

“Yes.”

“For good?”

“Like a nightmare I want to dream about,” Roma said.

Genie laughed and stood up. “Excuse me, ladies. I need to have a bath.”

We watched Genie walk away. He was still in the same blue shorts and grey sleeveless t-shirt he was wearing when we charged into C-206. He had the good sense to slip it on before leaving our flat.

“Really, Roma? Is Arushmaan finally off your list of dream men?” Anjali asked. He had been Roma's crush since he’d surfaced in TV commercials many years ago.

I was curious too. Roma had insisted we catch up and try and meet Arushmaan. But he had fobbed us off rudely two days ago.

I had wondered why we needed to spy on him, but he was the only interesting soul in our colony. Actually, scrap that. That was not true. There was Zeba, the married lovers, Glory and John Gonsalves, Mr Duggal, etc, etc.

“Must be all the tea...” Roma stared at the ceiling, smiling.

“What is?” I asked.

“I could get used to it,” Roma murmured.

“For goodness sake, what?” Anjali growled.

“Get used to a sexy, hot guy like Genie, tending to my every need. And not a grumpy moment. The last two days – bliss! After a while, I found myself watching Genie. I can’t blame the women in this society – even Aunty Glory loves him madly.”

We heard a vessel topple in the kitchen and all three of us straightened. I could feel my heart in my throat.

I looked at Roma. Shit. What if Genie heard.

We sat still, listening for a sound. Fish watched us, but offered no opinions.

Several minutes later, I went into the kitchen. I saw a thermos, with three cups next to it, on the platform, pieces of cake arranged on a plate on a tray, along with cut fruit in a container and three forks beside it.

I stood still. I could hear Genie taking a shower. I listened for several minutes. When he turned off the shower, I hurriedly put the cups on the tray, shoved the thermos under my armpit, grabbed the tray and jogged into the sitting room.

There was not a chance I wanted to know if he had heard Roma or not.

Good riddance to sexy, unrelatable toy boys. As long as Genie kept his mouth shut and didn’t tell my parents about our midnight adventure, we were good.
                                    ******