Despite having taken a month’s leave, Satwalekar returned in fifteen days. I was the only one who knew the reason for his leave. He had put down ‘unavoidable domestic duties’ as the reason in his leave application form. It was ironic that he had used the word ‘unavoidable’ for a marriage that had been forced upon him. He hadn’t invited me for the marriage. I hadn’t expected him to return in fifteen days. Marriage is a gamble. But most of the times, things work out well and a relationship develops over a period of time. Often, the kind of intimacy you develop with an unknown woman is far more intense and fascinating than with someone whom you have fallen in love with and know beforehand.
I wondered what had happened in this case.
Satwalekar seemed quiet. He had not shared his experiences with me. He seemed to have changed completely. Most change a little after getting married. But this change seemed more drastic.
He sat at his desk the whole day. It had been three days since he had joined, and he hadn’t ordered the special tea.
On the fourth day, he met me at my desk just before closing hours and said, ‘Come over with your wife to my house for dinner tomorrow. I won’t take no for an answer. Come and ensure you make the occasion a success.’
He seemed to be speaking to me the way he wrote in his diary.
His house was as I’d imagined.
Clean and well-organized. There wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen anywhere. The bedspread over the bed did not have a single crease.
All this was easily noticeable the moment I entered the house.
He welcomed me with a smile. He switched on the fan, and I noticed that the fan blades were absolutely clean along the edges.
‘Satwalekar, may I ask you something?’
‘Please.’
‘I would love to see your house.’
‘There’s just this room. What else is there to see?’
‘I would like to inspect it the way the CBI might.’
‘So you want to investigate,’ he said, laughing.
‘You may say that.’
‘Please go ahead.’
I opened a cupboard in the room. The top two shelves had clothes, neatly folded. It was not unexpected. The door had a thread tied to it, used exclusively for hanging socks and handkerchiefs. A couple of neckties added a splash of colour.
Another shelf had bottles of different shapes and colours. They ranged from bottles of perfume to Waterbury’s Compound. Most of the bottles were empty. A few had some medicine or liquid in them.
‘What are these bottles for?’
‘That’s my hobby. I buy them for throwaway prices on the footpath.’
I picked up a notebook kept in one corner.
Everything about him was written in it.
The first page had his name, surname, address, date of birth, details of his insurance policies, collar size, height, etc.
The next few pages had some other useful information. A page detailed all the local buses in serial order with start and end points. There was list of all the important trains, the police control room number, the fire brigade, phone numbers for all the important hospitals, names of important medicines, their side-effects, known allergies to specific drugs, etc.
I wondered what else I would discover.
One box had a roll of cotton, while another had rubber bands, needles and thread, a pair of scissors, paper clips, a nail-cutter, a few pencils, refills and what not. It was almost depressing to find everything one could think of. It made me feel foolish.
I dropped my investigation.
‘Please meet Mrs Satwalekar.’
She hurriedly put her hands together in a namaskar.
Even though we’re not all sculptors, we tend to create an image about our friend’s spouse based on the kind of person our friend is. More often than not, the person in question turns out to be completely different from what we’ve imagined.
Once in a while, the person you meet turns out to be stunningly beautiful, and you feel good about your imagination. At other times, you get depressed when the person turns out to be someone really ordinary and nothing like what you’ve imagined.
Satwalekar set the table and began serving.
There were two more plates laid out.
‘Are we expecting someone else?’
‘My cousin and his wife.’
‘Cousin?’
‘My kaka’s* son. This is actually his house. He used to work here earlier. But one fine day he decided to dedicate himself to farming, and forced his son to leave his job and move to Khandesh. He asked me to stay here. Because of that, I was able to complete my college education.’
‘What about your parents?’
‘They live in Thakurdwar.’
The cousin and his wife soon arrived and joined us at the dining table.
Light-hearted chatter continued around the table while we enjoyed the meal. Satwalekar’s wife spilled a bit of salad while serving it, and that was enough for him to erupt.
‘What nonsense!’
The chatter stopped and we looked at him. Not understanding what had happened, his wife asked,
‘Why? What’s the matter?’
‘You should be careful while serving.’
‘Oh, it happens sometimes.’
‘Shut up! I can’t tolerate this.’
‘Satwalekar, come on! Don’t make a big deal out of it.’
That silenced him. But the atmosphere had been vitiated. The meal dragged on. Things eventually started to return to normal when something else happened.
Mrs Satwalekar whispered to my wife.
‘What did you say?’ Satwalekar asked, raising his voice.
‘Nothing that concerns you. Just some ladies’ talk.’
‘You should learn some manners.’
‘What mistake did I make this time?’
‘There’s another lady sitting here. What will she think?’
‘Satwalekar, please don’t argue. They’re just having a conversation. It’s all right,’ I tried to intervene.
He retorted,
‘When there’s a group sitting together, one shouldn’t have private conversations on the side.’ Turning towards her, he said,
‘I need to know what you said to her. I won’t eat until you tell me.’
‘I asked whether I could serve rice to everyone, that’s all,’ she said.
‘What was the need to whisper, then?’
‘Nor was it something that needed to be announced to everyone,’ she retorted.
‘Don’t argue with me. Do your job. And do it neatly.’
I couldn’t bear to sit there any longer.
Satwalekar was absent for two days.
