Sonia watched, a little amused, as Jatin fumbled in his pocket and dropped a five rupee coin near the statue. Naina followed, kneeling beside the statue, closing her eyes, and praying silently. She really was a very pretty girl, Sonia thought for the umpteenth time. Naina opened her eyes, drew a hundred rupee note from her purse, and placed it at the foot of the idol. Sonia opened her mouth to protest, but quickly shut it again. What if she hurt the girl’s feelings with her objections? She had no right to dictate the amount, though there was no compulsion that you had to place money. It was a matter of personal choice and faith. As Naina rose, Mohnish followed suit and, kneeling, showered turmeric and vermilion on the idol, and a jhendu - marigold - flower, along with a betel leaf and a ten rupee note.
“Now let’s all have modaks!” Mrs Samarth announced, and steaming hot modaks were served with plenty of ghee.
As they all settled in the hall and tucked into the delicious sweet, Sonia glanced around the gathering. Her parents, on the right side of the plush red sofa, were commenting on the Ganesh rituals and the monsoons. Jatin, in a flamboyant black leather jacket, and Naina, in a zari-bordered red Salwar Kameez, looked more like a couple with every passing day. And bang opposite her sat Mohnish. He wore a moss-green T-shirt over a pair of dark blue trousers and he looked as handsome as ever. He responded politely to Mr Samarth’s remarks and once again, suddenly, Sonia felt blessed. Truly blessed. Her parents liked Mohnish and they had hinted more than once at a more serious relationship between them. Which of course Sonia had denied. But as she watched him laughing good-naturedly at a joke Jatin had cracked, she had to admit that she certainly wasn’t indifferent to Mohnish. On the contrary, she was positively and definitely drawn to him.
“What do you think, Sonia?” Mrs Samarth cut into her thoughts.
“About what?” She jerked out of her trance guiltily.
“Boss hasn’t been listening,” Jatin accused. “She’s been staring at Mohnish!”
“Jatin! You’re impossible!” Sonia exclaimed, blushing furiously. Subtlety was never her Assistant’s best quality.
Mohnish laughed, his dimple staging an appearance as he turned a full, interested gaze on poor Sonia. “Is that right?” He quirked an eyebrow.
Mr and Mrs Samarth passed each other quick, amused glances.
“Soniaji, can I have some water?” Naina’s sweet voice broke into the awkward silence, changing the focus of the conversation.
Sonia threw her a grateful look and rose immediately. As she walked toward the kitchen, she was very aware of five pairs of curious eyes watching her.
The fountain sprouted colourful illuminated jets of water against the dark night, dancing in rhythm to a popular Hindi film song. Jatin and Naina watched the colourful display of water antics, their feet tapping with the music. Behind the fountain, on a raised stage, rose a big idol of Ganesh, heavily garlanded. Crowds passed by, idly watching the kaleidoscopic jets of water, then moved on with their families to watch the other dekhave. As the song ended, Jatin and Naina clapped spontaneously, then slowly strolled down the street. Fortunately, the rain had stopped for a couple of hours and everyone was taking advantage of the respite.
“Have you enjoyed working for Stellar Investigations?” Naina asked Jatin.
Jatin kicked a stone on the road. “They’ve been the two most rewarding years of my life,” he confessed.
“Really?”
“Boss is amazing. I mean as a person. As a detective, she’s exceptional.”
“And as a Boss?”
“Well, there’s room for improvement!” He grinned cheekily.
“Come on! I’m sure she must be an ideal Boss.”
“What do you know about it?” Jatin frowned.
“It’s not too difficult to deduce. Which Boss would allow her assistant to go off on dates in the middle of working hours?”
Jatin was silent.
“And who would give her Assistant a cell phone for Christmas?” Naina asked. “And she’s given you these ten festival days to do as you please, while you both stay off cases, giving you -”
“Plenty of time to get to know you!” he completed with a twinkle in his eyes. “I admit it. Sonia Samarth is the best Boss anyone could ever have. Now, let’s talk about us. You’re looking like an angel tonight,” he continued.
Naina blushed. “You pay me far too many compliments.”
“Every one of which you deserve,” he replied gallantly.
They turned onto FC Road, holding hands. Crowds jostled, even at that late hour. It seemed as if half of Pune was out on the streets enjoying the Ganapti dekhave set up by the community groups called Mandals. Some of the Mandals ranged back almost a hundred years, in keeping with the age-old tradition of celebrating the birth of Lord Ganesh.
“Do you like Masala Dosas?” Naina asked suddenly.
“I love them! It’s my favourite South Indian dish,” Jatin declared. Then he stopped. “Why don’t we have one right now? There’s my usual haunt.”
He pointed out a cart, on which a stove heated up a huge flat-iron tava. A man dressed in white overalls was busy laying out dosas, while his customers hung around patiently. Plastic chairs were set on the pavement for the tired and the old.
“Only if the treat is on me,” Naina remarked.
“No problem. It’s very cheap anyway” Jatin led her to the cart. “Hello Shettychacha, sagale theek aahey na - everything okay?”
“Uttam. Excellent!” Shettychacha acknowledged, wiping a kerchief over his dark, sweaty face. His oiled hair was well plastered in a side parting. “What will you have?”
“Two crisp dosas please!”
“Give me five minutes.” Shettychacha nodded, indicating the chairs with his hand.
Jatin watched as Shettychacha quickly sprinkled water over the heated tava. He put semi-liquid, pasty rice dough into a vati - a small steel bowl - and dropped the rice platter on the tava. Then , using the back of the vati, he deftly flattened the dough on the tava. The thin layer of dough set and sizzled, browning in seconds. A blob of potato subji was placed in the centre
