“What layabouts they are,” said Naveen. “My husband sits around at home every night watching TV while I cook and clean up and look after the kids. Never lifts a finger. The other day he had the cheek to call me fat. Fat! You should see him! His face is like a giant greasy poori.”
A mother of three, she lived with her family in one room and shared the toilet down the hall with four other families.
“You’re lucky to have a job, so many people are without work,” said Mummy.
“Ha! Lucky, am I, Auntie-ji?” she replied with a laugh. “Working six days a week, minimum ten to twelve hours every day, three-thousand-rupees-a-month salary? Our rent alone is fifteen hundred. And everything else is getting more expensive every day. How are we supposed to survive?”
“Three thousand rupees a month is not enough,” agreed Mummy.
“And meanwhile, Madam” – she was referring to her employer – “is complaining that things are tight! She has no idea!”
“They’re having money problems themselves?”
“Sahib’s been facing difficulties the past few months.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, he was charged with smuggling.”
“How shocking! Was it diamonds or something?”
“Nothing like that. Actually he sells… hmm… you know that ink inside those machines that make photocopies? Turns out he’s been importing it into the country disguised as something else… something used for making tires, which can be imported duty free. Anyhow the customs people finally got wise and seized his shipment.”
“Is he out of business?”
“Nothing of the sort, Auntie-ji. He paid a big bribe and got the shipment released. Now everything is back to normal. The night before last he was out celebrating. He didn’t get up until twelve yesterday. But then there’s nothing new about that.”
“Perhaps you should ask for a salary increase?”
Naveen laughed out loud. “Not a chance, Auntie-ji. If anything, Madam will try to reduce my salary. Then she’ll go and buy herself more jewelry. She hoards it like a cow-wah. You wouldn’t believe how much she has hidden away. Several crores’ worth. She’ll never starve, that one, that’s for sure…”
Her mission complete, Mummy got off the bus at Defence Colony, where her driver, Majnu, was waiting for her in a prearranged spot in the shade of a tree.
He was sleeping soundly on his fully reclined seat. All the car’s windows were wound down and his door was open.
“Wake up, you duffer!”
The shrill rebuke from his employer and a couple of prods from her cane woke him with a start.
“How many times I’ve told you, na? Responsibility for the vehicle is on your head. How you can be responsible when you’re dozing, I ask you?”
“But, madam – ”
“Don’t crib! Now sit up and drive me to Gurgaon.”
Majnu mumbled an apology as he rubbed his sleepy eyes, took a slug of warm water from the bottle he kept up front and started the ignition.
Thirty minutes later, they reached Puri’s house.
After a quick change from the ordinary attire she had worn for her undercover work into something more appropriate, Mummy found the sitting room already packed with women, all of them dressed in their best saris and jewelry. A few elderly uncles had slipped in as well and sat on the periphery, but strictly speaking, godh bharai was a women-only affair.
Mummy was greeted with much feet touching, hugs, smiles, banter and laughter, and then Jaiya came down to join them. She was dressed in one of her wedding saris, a lustrous red and gold silk affair, and wore a full set of wedding jewelry as well – an elaborate necklace, mini-chandelier-like matching earrings and a nose ring fit for a maharani. Her hands and feet had been decorated with paisley henna patterns. Fresh motiya flowers were strung in her hair.
After greeting everyone, the mother-to-be sat on a chair positioned in the center of the room. Rumpi lit a brass diya, circling it in front of her daughter, and applied a smudge of vermilion to her forehead. Amidst much teasing and giggling, the other women gathered round and sang, “Sola sin-gaar karke, godhi bharaayi le. Chotu jo aawe ghar mein nani behlaawe… Payal pehenke nani naach dikhawe.” (“Beautiful in your jewelry and makeup, we fill your lap with blessings. When little one comes, his granny will entertain him. She’ll tie bells on her ankles and have to dance for him like a naach girl!”)
A yellow thread was tied around the expectant mother’s right wrist. And then an array of goodies was placed in her lap: fruit and sweets, betel nuts, one-rupee coins and tiny silver anklets for the babies. Blessings were also whispered in her ear.
“Jug jug jiyo,” said Mummy after smearing more vermilion on her granddaughter’s forehead and adding some pieces of coconut to the growing heap in her lap.
Jaiya was then hand-fed pieces of barfi and coconut, a table was placed in front of her and a feast of samosas and gulab jamuns laid out.
After everyone had eaten their fill and the singing and dancing had begun, Mummy caught up with Rumpi in the kitchen.
“Seems Mrs. Bansal’s not the one,” she said, keeping her voice down and explaining why. “Her husband is smuggling all the same.”
“Him? Smuggling what?” exclaimed Rumpi. But before Mummy could answer she said: “Actually, Mummy-ji, I don’t want to know. These revelations are proving far too depressing. Just tell me where you think this leaves us?”
“I was thinking, na. There is one lady we failed to do consideration of.”
“Who?”
“Lily Arora.”
“Lily? What motive could she possibly have for robbing her own house?” Rumpi shook her head. “With respect, Mummy-ji, I think this has gone far enough. It’s time we told Chubby.”
“Then those goondas will get away for sure,” she said stubbornly. “Chubby is doing investigation of this Dr. Jha murder, na? Kitty robberies are not his concern. So busy he is. It remains for us two.”
“No, Mummy-ji, I’m sorry, enough is enough. My duties are here at home. Now I’d better get back inside. I’m missing all the fun.”
The scene in Puri’s ‘den’ at the back of the house was a very different one, although no less rowdy. Twenty or so men, mostly middle-aged and dressed in cotton shirts stretched tight by potbellies, stood around drinking tumblers of Royal Challenge.
The center of attention was one of Puri’s brothers-in-law, who had a seemingly endless repertoire of ‘non- veg’ jokes and stood in the middle of the room telling them one after another.
“Santa Singh was talking to Banta Singh about his love life. ‘So, Santa, tell me, how’s it going with the girls?’ Santa answers: ‘Women to me are nothing but sex objects’. ‘Really?’ replies Banta. ‘Yes,’ says Santa, shaking his head, ‘whenever I mention sex, they object!’”
Before his audience could recover, he fired off another: “One doctor is examining a girl of
Raucous laughter followed Puri down the corridor as he went to the kitchen to tell Sweetu to bring more ice. On the way back, he bumped into his sister, Preeti.
She looked worried.
“Bagga has got himself into something again, I’m sure of it,” she said.
Puri sighed. “What now?”
“This deal he was talking about the other night. You remember? Something is not right. He says the
