“Oh yes, we start from Monday,” said Ishvar.
“That’s wonderful. Many, many congratulations and felicitations. Come inside, sit with me, you must be tired. Miriam! Three teas!”
“You are too generous,” said Omprakash. “Just like Ashraf Chacha.”
The sarcasm was lost on Nawaz. “Oh, it’s my responsibility to help Ashraf’s friends. And now that you have found jobs, my next duty is to find you a place to stay.”
“No rush, Nawazbhai,” said Ishvar, mildly alarmed. “We are happy where we are, your awning is beautiful, very comfortable.”
“Just leave it to me. The thing is, it’s almost impossible in this city to find a house. When something becomes available you must grab it. Come on, finish your tea, let’s go.”
“Last stop!” called the conductor, clanging his ticket punch against the chrome railing. The bus skirted the gloomy slum lanes, groaned as it turned the corner, and stopped.
“This one is the new colony,” said Nawaz, indicating the field which was in the process of being annexed by the slum. “Let’s find the man in charge.”
They entered between two rows of shacks, and Nawaz asked someone if Navalkar was around. The woman pointed. They found him in a shack that was his office.
“Yes,” said Navalkar, “we still have a few places for rent.” His straggly moustache fluttered with studied exaggeration in front of his mouth when he spoke. “Let me show you.”
They returned through the two rows of shacks. “This corner house,” said Navalkar. “It’s vacant, if you want it. Come, look inside.”
As he opened the door of the shack, a pariah dog departed through a hole in the back. The mud floor was partially covered with planks. “You can put more pieces of wood if you like,” suggested Navalkar. The walls were a patchwork, part plywood and part sheet metal. The roof was old corrugated iron, waterproofed in corroded areas with transparent plastic.
“The tap is out there, in the middle of the lane. Most convenient. You won’t have to go far for water, like they do in other inferior colonies. This is a nice place.” He swept his arm around to take in the field. “Newly developed, not too crowded. The rent is one hundred rupees per month. In advance.”
Nawaz tapped the walls with his fingers like a doctor examining a chest, then stamped his foot on a floor plank, making it wobble. He made an approving face. “Well built,” he whispered to the tailors.
Navalkar gave a circular nod. “We have even better huts. You want to see?”
“No harm in looking,” said Nawaz.
They were led behind the rows of tin-and-plastic jhopadpattis to a set of eight brick-walled huts. The roofs once again were of rusted corrugated metal. “These are two hundred and fifty rupees per month. But for that money you get a pukka floor, and electric light.” He pointed to the poles that fed wires to the huts, pirated from the streetlighting supply.
Inside, Nawaz inspected the bare bricks and scratched one with his thumb nail. “Very good quality,” he said. “You want to know what I think? For the first month, take the cheaper house. Then if your job goes well and you can afford it, move to this one.”
Navalkar kept up his circular nodding. The tailors’ silence made Nawaz uneasy. “What’s the matter, you don’t like it?”
“No no, it’s very nice. But money is the problem.”
“Money is a problem for everyone,” said Navalkar. “Unless you are a politician or a blackmarketeer.”
When the forced laughter concluded, Ishvar said, “The advance rent is difficult.”
“Don’t you have even a hundred rupees?” asked Nawaz disbelievingly.
“It’s because of the tailoring lady. She told us we must bring our own sewing-machines. And we have just enough for the rental deposit. These last few months without work, we have been spending and-”
“You useless people!” Nawaz spat, seeing his plan to be rid of them begin to disintegrate. “Wasting your money!”
“If we can stay with you a little longer,” pleaded Ishvar, “we could save enough-”
“You think this house is going to wait for you?” he snarled, and Navalkar shook his head on cue.
Desperate, Nawaz turned to him. “Can you make an exception, Mr. Navalkar? Twenty-five rupees today, which I will pay. And twenty-five from the tailors each week, for the rest.”
Navalkar curled his lips, gnawing at the moustache with his lower incisors. He brushed back the wet hairs with his knuckles. “For your sake only. Because I trust you.”
Nawaz counted out the money before any minds could be changed. They returned to the first shack, where Navalkar put a lock on the plywood door and gave the key to Ishvar. “Your house now. Live well.”
They picked their way through the cracked earth of the field and waited at the bus stop. The tailors looked worried. “My congratulations and felicitations to you again,” said Nawaz. “In one day you have found jobs and a new house.”
“Only with your help,” said Ishvar. “Is Navalkar the landlord?”
Nawaz laughed. “Navalkar is a little crook working for a big crook. A slumlord called Thokray, who controls everything in this area — country liquor, hashish, bhung. And when there are riots, he decides who gets burned and who survives.”
Seeing the apprehension on Ishvar’s face, he added, “You don’t have to deal with him. Just pay your rent regularly, you will be all right.”
“But then, whose land is this?”
“No one’s. The city owns it. These fellows bribe the municipality, police, water inspector, electricity officer. And they rent to people like you. No harm in it. Empty land sitting useless — if homeless people can live there, what’s wrong?”
On this last night, Nawaz’s relief spurred him to greater generosity. “Please eat with me,” he invited them in. “Honour me at least once before you go. Miriam! Three dinners!”
He inquired if they were happy under the back awning. “If you prefer, you can sleep indoors. The thing is, that’s where I was going to put you anyway, when you first arrived. But I thought to myself, the house is so cramped and crowded, better outside in the fresh air.”
“Yes yes, much better,” said Ishvar. “We have to thank you for your kindness for six months.”
“Has it really been that long? How fast the time has flown.”
Miriam brought the food to the table and left. Even obscured by the burkha, Ishvar and Omprakash had been able to see her eyes cloud with embarrassment at her husband’s hypocrisy.
IV. Small Obstacles
MIRROR, RAZOR, SHAVING BRUSH, plastic cup, loata, copper water pot — Ishvar arranged them on an upturned cardboard carton in one corner of the shack. Trunk and bedding took up most of the remaining space. He hung their clothes from rusted nails protruding through the plywood walls. “So everything fits nicely. We have jobs, we have a house, and soon we’ll find a wife for you.”
Om did not smile. “I hate this place,” he said.
“You want to go back to Nawaz and his awning?”
“No. I want to go back to Ashraf Chacha and his shop.”
“Poor Ashraf Chacha — deserted by his customers.” Ishvar picked up the copper pot and moved to the door.
“I’ll get the water,” offered Om.
He went to the tap in the lane where a grey-haired woman watched him fumble with the handle to start the flow. Nothing happened. He kicked the standpipe and rattled the spout, shaking out a few drops.
