Short Story: The Balloon Report

Arun Kumar lived in a compact sea-facing flat in Bandra West, the kind of place where the salt air never quite left your clothes. Yesterday had been Holi—a holiday that, in Mumbai, often stretched into an excuse for day-long revelry. Arun had gone to a friend’s rooftop party in Khar, accepted one too many glasses of thandai laced with generous helpings of bhang, and by late evening had simply folded into the nearest sofa and disappeared from the world.

He woke up this morning—March 4, 2026—with a headache that felt like someone was tightening a metal band around his temples. The clock on his phone glared 9:07. He was already catastrophically late.

Arun was Chief Financial Officer at Apex Dynamics Ltd., a mid-sized infrastructure conglomerate whose quarterly board review was scheduled for 9:30 sharp. He showered in thirty seconds, pulled on the first clean shirt he could find, and opened the Uber app. Every driver in a five-kilometer radius appeared to be either offline or mysteriously “on a long trip.” It took seventeen agonizing minutes to finally secure a ride.

He reached the glass-and-steel tower in Lower Parel at 10:05. The boardroom door was already closed. When he slipped in, twenty-three pairs of eyes turned toward him in perfect, synchronized disapproval. His boss, Vikram Malhotra, merely raised one eyebrow and continued speaking about EBITDA margins as though Arun were invisible.

Arun’s answers during the Q&A were sluggish and imprecise. Numbers he knew by heart slipped away like wet soap. By the time the meeting ended, the air felt thick with unspoken reprimand.

As people filed out, Arun lingered near Vikram’s chair and tried to explain.

“Sir, you won’t believe what happened. I left home at 8:30 and someone threw a water balloon at me. Drenched me completely. It was smelly, filthy water—honestly disgusting. I had to go back, change, and… well, everything snowballed from there.”

Vikram’s expression hardened. Before Arun could retreat to his cabin, the older man called across the corridor.

“Sarah, please speak to HR right now. Tell them to file a police complaint immediately. This city is going to the dogs. My CFO gets assaulted with a water balloon one day after Holi and he’s late for a board meeting!”

“Sir, please,” Arun said quickly. “It’s really okay. Just a prank. Don’t bother.”

“It’s not okay,” Vikram replied, voice flat. “Not when it affects the company.”

Arun returned to his desk and stared at spreadsheets without seeing them. The throbbing in his head had moved behind his eyes.

That evening, as he was shutting down his laptop, the HR head—Neha Kapoor—walked up with her usual brisk efficiency.

“Arun, you need to go to the Khar police station to give your statement. Don’t worry, it won’t take long. My assistant Rhea Sharma and Sundar from Legal will accompany you.”

“Neha, can’t we just… drop this?”

“Now?” She gave a tight smile. “You should have told Vikram this morning that you didn’t want a complaint. I’ve already spent—well, invested—three hours on paperwork. Legal has too. Might as well finish it. It’s not a bad thing anyway; sets a precedent.”

The sub-inspector at the station was unexpectedly polite, almost cheerful. Five minutes, exactly.

“I left home around 8:30,” Arun recited. “I was waiting for my Uber when someone threw a water balloon. It drenched me. Smelly, filthy water. I went back upstairs, changed, took another cab, reached office 10:05.”

“Address, sir?”

Arun gave it.

“Any landmark nearby?”

“The Oxomoco.” The constable looked at him as if Arun were playing a prank on him. It’s a Mexican restaurant. Arun spelt it out slowly and it was noted down. Arun was out in under ten minutes.

That night his wife Priya continued her pointed silence. She had barely spoken since he’d stumbled home the previous evening reeking of bhang and thandai. He slept on the couch.

The next morning Arun reached the office at 8:15, determined to redeem himself. By noon he had cleared most of his inbox and finalized two critical reports. He was starting to feel human again when the head of Legal, Sanjay Rao, appeared at his door.

“Police called. They’ve obtained some CCTV footage from the building entrance and the lane outside. They’re reviewing it now.”

Arun’s stomach folded in on itself. He skipped lunch.

Late afternoon a young associate from Legal—barely two years out of law school—burst in without knocking.

“Sir, the sub-inspector says it’s urgent. They need you at the station immediately.”

Arun rubbed his temples. “I’ve wasted enough time on this balloon nonsense. Can’t you people handle it? I’m busy.”

The associate left. Arun stared at the screen for another thirty minutes, accomplishing nothing. Then he made up his mind. He would leave early, go home, pack a small bag, and perhaps drive to his parents’ place in Pune for a few days until the police lost interest in this absurd water-balloon sideshow. He powered down his laptop, grabbed his bag, and walked quickly toward the elevator.

Just as the doors were sliding open, he heard hurried footsteps and the young associate’s voice hollering down the corridor.

“Sir! The sub-inspector has sent a constable. He’s waiting downstairs to escort you.”

Arun felt heat crawl up his neck, prickling like tiny insects. He kept his face blank while his mind raced. He would confess that he had a mental health issue. He had imagined the water balloon, which hadn’t been thrown at him. He would get help, but please could they keep it quiet? He would call Rohan—Rohan who always knew people, who could make problems quietly vanish for the right fee. But there was no time.

The constable waiting in the lobby was a grizzled man in his late fifties, uniform starched but sleeves rolled up against the March heat.

“Sorry to trouble you, sir,” he said, voice gravelly but courteous. “We’ve already caught the fellow who threw it. We just need you to come and identify him. Won’t take more than a few minutes.”

Arun stared at the older man. The constable met his gaze without blinking. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to jump up and down in relief. He wanted to shout.

Arun controlled himself and nodded once, slowly.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s go.” Better some poor devil than me, he thought as he walked out of the building with dignity and pride, his head held high.

Short story: A Family Holiday

 As the Innova sped along the airport highway towards the city, Sushsree’s phone vibrated in her bag. Even without looking at the phone, Sushsree knew who it would be. She gingerly fished the phone out of her bag. The screen was lit up and the caller’s name was flashing across the screen. “Milind Shah Everest Pipes”.  An hour earlier, as her flight descended into Bengaluru, she had spent a few minutes debating whether she should keep her mobile switched off or on vibrate mode or fully muted. She knew that one of Chandrakant Shukla’s minions would call her shortly after she landed to find out if the financial statements were acceptable, though she had messaged them in the morning saying she would be able to let them know only by ten in the night, hoping to prevent them from calling until after dinner. 

Nandan turned around to look at his wife. ‘Don’t these people know you are on leave?,’ he asked trying to sound irritated, though his tone was actually a mix of pride and annoyance. ‘She is forever working,’ Sushsree’s mother-in-law commented grimly from behind her, but without any of the pride that her son still had in his wife’s work. How dare she answer her phone?

‘No, the statements won’t be ready till late evening,’ Sushsree told Milind Shah, even as Adhrit snuggled against her.

Could she make sure that her compliance team would accept the statements that the Everest Pipes’ auditors had provided?  ‘Yes, of course, I will. I already promised Chandrakant sir, haven’t I?’

Milind Shah wouldn’t end the conversation and kept talking and Sushsree could sense her in-laws’ annoyance.

‘Milind, I need to go. I’m on leave, you know that, right? I’ll call you when I have an update.’ Sushsree hung up. They would call back in an hour, she knew, though she had won a brief respite. Clients expected their investment bankers to be on call 24/7, even when they were on vacation and the folks at Everest Pipes were no exception.

‘Bangalore has changed,’ her mother-in-law said from behind, a hint of sadness in her voice.

‘We’re coming here after almost five years, right?’ her father-in-law shot back. His voice was much louder than that of his wife and it carried

‘Yes, you came here just before Covid. I came here just last year and even I can see some changes.’ Nandan turned around for a few seconds from his front seat, next to the driver, before turning back. His voice was even stronger than his father’s and it bounced all around the Innova.

‘What about you Sushshree? Do you see any change?’ her mother-in-law challenged her.

‘I keep coming to Bangalore so often that I don’t notice any change,’ Sushsree replied meekly and waited for the inevitable retort.

‘You’ve been visiting Bangalore so often that you don’t notice any change, but you haven’t had the time to visit my brother even once,’ her father-in-law mocked her.

‘Those were work trips Appa. Day trips, mostly’, Nandan defended her half-heartedly.

‘I visited them just after we got married.’

‘Which was six years ago!’ Her father-in-law was itching for a fight. Did the fact that he was on home turf embolden him? Sushsree wondered lazily. He had moved to Mumbai in his twenties to take up a job and had become a Mumbaikar for all practical purposes, but Bangalore was still home for him and her mother-in-law. What about Nandan? Like her, Nandan too was born and brought up in Mumbai. However, unlike her, Nandan could speak Kannada fluently. No, Nandan didn’t think of Bangalore as home, Sushsree decided, though she had never asked him that question and now she would never ask him, just in case he ended up saying yes.

When they reached their destination, a two-storied bungalow surrounded by a compound wall and hedged in by much taller buildings and one particularly tall high-rise, Mahesh and his twins came bounding out of the house, opened the gate and stood aside. The Innova drove into the compound, disgorged its passengers and their luggage, reversed back into the road and sped away.

‘How much did you pay him?’ Mahesh asked Nandan who was looking at the Uber App on his phone, only to gasp on hearing Nandan’s reply. ‘We could have send the car.’

‘Next time.’

‘Padmaja and Pragnya have grown so tall,’ she heard her mother-in-law gush, even as her phone vibrated once more.

Mahesh’s wife Krithika came out and picked up Adhrit. ‘Adhrit is a big boy now. How old are you, Adhrit?’ Her father-in-law’s elder brother stood at the door, looking as frail as the few wisps of white hair on his crown. His wife’s head, covered with lustrous silvery tresses, could be seen behind him.

Adhrit refused to answer Krithika, though he reluctantly stayed in her arms. Sushsree ignored the vibrating phone.

‘Adhrit, tell Kritika how old you are,’ his grandmother prompted him. Adhrit remained silent.

‘Why won’t you answer your aunt?’ Nandan demanded, even as Krithika carried him inside and the rest of the family followed them.

The drawing room was brightly lit, with red curtains and comfortable sofas of the same colour. ‘Adhrit is ….’ All the grown-ups in the drawing room seemed to be speaking in one voice and waiting for his answer. The only sounds that were heard were the soft thuds when Mahesh and Nandan deposited the suitcases on the floor.

 ‘Four,’ Adhrit said gently and was rewarded with shouts of exultation from all around. ‘He’s a big boy now,’ his grandmother added.

 Sushsree’s phone stopped vibrating and then restarted after a three second pause. Sushsree was torn between answering the phone and saying something nice to  Padmaja and Pragnya. She decided to not answer the phone. She could call Milind back, couldn’t she. However, she made the mistake of fishing the phone out of her handbag and looking at the screen. It wasn’t Milind Shah, but Chandrakant Shukla himself. Now, there was no question of ignoring the call.

 ‘Hello Chandrakant Sir.’

 ‘Sushsree, I know that you are on a break and I am sorry to trouble you.’

 ‘It’s no trouble at all sir.’ Behind her, she could sense Nandan and her parents bristling, while Mahesh and Krithika gave her indulgent smiles. Mahesh’s father had a perplexed look on his face until his younger brother muttered an explanation to him and then he too looked annoyed.

 ‘Sushsree, why is it taking so long to confirm that the financial statements that we have given you are kosher.’

 ‘Sir, whenever we are relying on unaudited financial statements, it is necessary for our compliance to review it and ….

 ‘Okay, but why is it taking so long?’

 ‘Sir, it’s a process. I will get it sorted.’

 ‘I know Sushsree. You have always delivered. That’s why I’ve given this deal to your firm.’

 She wanted to ask him why he had called though she had messaged him in the morning to say that she would revert on his issue by late night. Why did clients have go out of their way to be so difficult?

 Is it very pleasant in Bangalore? Chandrakant Shukla wanted to know.

 ‘Yes Sir, it is. The weather is amazing!’

 ‘I so envy you. We are sweating it out here, you know.’

 Of course, you bastard, you are sweating it out! Is there any corner of your house or office or car that is not air-conditioned? ‘Sir, you should come to Bangalore.’ Sushsree's voice couldn't have been more warm or welcoming.  

 All around her, various activities were taking place. Nandan had carried their parent’s suitcase into the room allocated for them. Her mother-in-law had taken off Adhrit’s shoes as well as his jeans and given him a pair of sandals and a pair of comfortable shorts. Kritika was laying out the table, in the centre of which was two piles of freshly fried medu vade and onion kodubale. Nandan’s uncle and aunt were already seated, ready to eat. Soon everyone else took their places around the table. As she too sat down, the smell of fresh filter coffee hit Sushsree, even as she noticed her mother-in-law look at Kritika approvingly.

 Her phone vibrated again. This time it was her own office and Sushree had to explain to a young analyst, over the munching sounds around her, why an EBITDA calculation seemed to be wrong. Nandan looked at his wife with irritation. ‘Whoever it is, tell him you are on leave!’ he asked angrily looking up from his plate for a moment, before turning back his attention to the food. ‘She is forever working,’ Sushsree’s mother-in-law added, addressing her elder sister and her brother-in-law, who both had a grim look on their faces. How dare she take a work call when on leave and having a meal with family?

 ‘This is why we told Kritika that she can’t work after marriage. She wasn’t too happy about it, but its worked out well for all of us. Padmaja and Pragya get her undivided attention.’

 ‘Why isn’t Adhrit eating?’ her father-in-law’s elder brother asked, as if to buttress the statement his wife had just made. ‘Don’t you like vada?’

 ‘He’s a fussy eater,’ Sushsree said quickly, even as all the adults around the table turned their attention towards the four-year old who was treating the medu vada on the plate in front of him more as a toy than as food.

 ‘Maybe he has never seen a medu vada before!’

 ‘Of course not. We take him to Udipi restaurants often, Nandan retorted.

 ‘And, we make idli, dosa, vada at home very often,’ her mother-in-law added.

 ‘The Udipi restaurants in Mumbai are not really authentic, are they?’

 ‘Not really. Now some of them even serve Chinese food. In any event, that cannot compare with this food!’ Nandan sounded suitably sad as he spoke.  Nandan’s uncle and aunt appreciated his humility with a beaming smile.

 ‘Why don’t you feed him?’ Sushsree’s mother-in-law asked her.

 ‘He can eat on his own,’ Sushsree countered.

 ‘He’s only four,’ Sushsree’s mother-in-law’s sister said.

 If I feed him when we are on holiday, he will insist of me feeding him after we go back home, Sushsree wanted to say, but she desisted. ‘Let him eat a bit more on his own, after that I will feed him.

 Should she switch off the phone? Chandrakant Shukla would go mad if her phone was off. So would her boss. It was one thing to not answer a call and another if the phone was switched off. There were so many excuses that could be made if the phone rang, but went unanswered.

 The phone vibrated once more and Nandan frowned. Sushsree didn’t dare look at the phone, thought she had sensed its pulsating energy even before it started vibrating. Sushsree’s mother-in-law immediately caught on and the other three oldies at the table followed suit. It was as if the vibrating phone was an evil object which radiated so much anti-family energy that was a menace to everyone in its vicinity.

 'Is it the same person calling?', her mother-in-law asked. Sushsree was forced to look at her phone. It was “Milind Shah Everest Pipes”.

 ‘Everest Pipes is going to have its IPO. We are handling it,’ Sushsree told the table at large.

 Fantastic! I’m so happy for Everest Pipes. Please take the call Sushsree,’ her father-in-law said, his tone dripping with sarcasm and making eye contact with his elder brother, who quickly adopted his younger brother's stern look and attitude. Sushsree totally ignored the sarcasm and answered the phone, even as she said ‘thank you appa’, with full sincerity.

 ‘This is not about the financial statements,’ Milind told her.

 ‘Please tell me, Milind,’ Sushsree said as sweetly as she could.

 ‘One of our executive directors, you know Mr. Goel, well, Mr. Goel has been offered an independent director’s role on the board of Jayjit Paints and he wants to take it up. Will this have to be disclosed in the offer document?’

‘Yes, but I don’t see an issue. There is no conflict here.’

 ‘Do you know that Jayjit Paints will be starting a new division to manufacture PVC pipes?’

 ‘Oh dear, then why is Mr. Goel taking this up?’

 ‘Mr. Chandrakant Shukla is fine with it.’

 ‘Really?’

 ‘Yes.’

 ‘Hold on, doesn’t Shukla sir’s family hold a minority stake in Jayjit Paints?’

 ‘Would Adhrit like a glass of milk?’ Sushree could hear Krithika ask, even as Adhrit pushed his head against her side, leaning from his chair.

 ‘Yes, give him a glass of milk,’ Adhrit’s grandmother agreed. ‘At least, let him drink some milk.

 ‘With chocolate powder in it?’ Krithika asked Adhrit who nodded.

 ‘When we were young, we had Boost and Bournvita,’ Mahesh said with a chuckle. ‘Nowadays, I don’t see kids having Boost or Bournvita.’

 ‘Nandan liked Horlicks,’ his mother said.

 ‘Mahesh liked Boost and Bournvita,’ his mother added.

 ‘I remember.’ Nandan’s mother had her eyes half-closed, as if she was trying hard to remember those days.

 Sushsree continued talking on the phone, even as she moved the food around on her plate with her index finger. She wanted to ask for a fork, so that she could eat with her left hand, instead of holding her phone with it. Should she whip out her Bluetooth earphones from her handbag, which was on her lap, and plug them into her ears? That would free both her hands, but her inlaws wouldn’t like that one bit. It would look as if she was in proper work mode.

 The sound of the stainless steel glass falling to the floor and clattering forced her to stop paying attention to what Milind Shah was saying.

 ‘Adhrit!’ Nandan shouted loudly.

 ‘Adhrit!’ her father-in-law said in a horse voice.

 ‘Adhrit!’ her mother-in-law squeaked in a high-pitched voice. ‘The entire glass, he spilt it all! He had hardly taken a sip,’ she added after a pause.

 Some of the milk had splashed on her bare feet and churidhar. The wetness on her skin was almost as cold as the sudden chill she felt in her heart.

 ‘We shouldn’t have let him hold his glass,’ her father-in-law said.

 ‘I wish we had someone who took better care of my only grandson,’ her mother-in-law exploded.

 Nandan was more direct. ‘You shouldn’t have been on the phone. You should have held the glass. You know that he can’t hold his glass properly.’

 Mahesh and his parents also looked at Sushsree with accusing eyes even as she quickly hung up and put the phone on the table. Pragnya looked a bit scared, but her elder sister Padmaja had a sly smile on her face as she looked on an adult’s discomfiture. Krithika seemed to be the only one in that room who didn’t display any emotion.

 ‘Let me mop it up,’ Sushsree said shakily, even as she stood up, her breath coming up in short, shallow gasps, expecting Krithika to offer some help. Instead, Krithika pointed to the kitchen and said, ‘you will find some rags behind the gas stove’, her expression deadpan.

 As she walked into the kitchen, her phone beeped twice, to signal a new WhatsApp message. She realised that she was had unknowingly grabbed her phone as she went to the kitchen and was clutching it as if it was her oxygen tube while on a deep sea dive. ‘The financial statements have a problem,’ Ananth from Compliance was telling her.

 ‘What’s the issue?’ she messaged back. Chandrakant Shukla would scream blue murder if they weren’t approved by ten in the night.

 ‘Client acquisition costs have been treated as capex and amortised.’

 Shit! A company making pipes doing that!

 ‘What’s the amount involved?’ she asked Anant, typing fast, even as her brain considered various solutions.

 ‘Two lakhs.’

 ‘What? That’s it? I’ll ask them to change it as opex. Is that all?’ Some over-smart CA in the finance department was trying to behave like he was working for an Edutech company.  Sushsree almost laughed, until she remembered what she was in the kitchen.

 ‘Why have you treated client acquisition costs as capex in your financials? Amount involved in 2 lakhs. Please change this to opex and resend the statement. Else, there will be delays,’ she messaged Milind Shah.

 She then looked behind the gas stove and found two pieces of cloth just as Krithika had said. She grabbed one of them with her left hand and quickly walked back to the dining room to find the entire family waiting for her re-entry. There was total silence. She ignored everyone, quickly mopped up the milk on the chair and the floor walked back to the kitchen to put the rags back. Adhrit jumped off his chair to follow her.

 ‘Stay there, amma will be back in two seconds,’ she ordered Adhrit, who ignored her and followed her nevertheless.

 ‘Adhrit, come to Ajji,’ her mother-in-law said. Adhrit ignored her. Once she was in the kitchen, she dumped the rag behind the stove and looked at her phone quickly. Milind was typing a reply.

‘Will do,’ Milind told her.

 ‘Email the modified statement to anant.sharma@calmcapital.com, with a copy to me.’ She picked up Adhrit and carried him back.

 ‘He’s not eaten anything,’ her mother-in-law said.

 ‘I’ll feed him.’ Her phone started to vibrate again, but Sushree resolutely ignored the vibrating phone and everyone else around the table, as she focussed on feeding Adhrit.

 

THE END

 

 

 

Short Story: 10 Most Influential Under 35

The television was a mite too loud, Sangeeta thought and she reached for the remote control, which was not within easy reach. Sachin saw her reach out and warned, ‘don’t change the channel.’

‘I won’t. Just the volume, too loud,’ Sangeeta muttered through her samosa.

‘Didi, I’ve kept your saree on your bed,’ the maid told her from behind and vanished.

‘What’s the time?’ Sangeeta asked, even as she turned around to look at the timepiece on top of a large bookshelf which groaned under the weight of her book collection.

‘Plenty of time,’ her mother commented. ‘Eat well. They won’t give away your award to someone else even if you are late.’

Sangeeta groaned not just because she was trying to lose weight, but also because it was five thirty and she had to be at the venue by seven.

‘We must leave by six. Daddy, what are you wearing today?’

‘Don’t worry about me. You go get dressed.’

Sangeeta finished her samosa and ran upstairs.

‘Daddy, I’ve picked a shirt for you. It’s on your bed. Wear it with anything black,’ Sangeeta shouted from the top of the stairs before disappearing once again.

When Sangeeta reappeared in the living room, her father was still in front of the TV, flicking through the channels, scratching himself through his loose pajamas. Sachin sat nearby, immaculately dressed in smart casuals and a serious professional look on his face which belied his playboy lifestyle.

‘Ghosh, Daddy, why aren’t you dressed already? Please get dressed. We need to leave in five minutes.’

‘I don’t need much time to get dressed, don’t you know that?’

There was something wrong, Sangeeta sensed. For one, Sachin stared woodenly ahead.

‘Mummy, are you ready?’ Sangeeta directed her voice upstairs.

‘Coming. Where is your Daddy?’

‘He is still here. I’m asking him to get dressed.’

‘Damn! This isn’t working. I think the batteries need to be changed. Do we have any batteries in the house?’ The remote control was being subjected to some harsh third degree treatment by her father.

‘Daddy, for goodness sake, forget the remote. Get dressed. We will be late otherwise.’

Her father continued to stare ahead. ‘I just need a minute to get dressed. Don’t worry about me. Actually, why don’t the three on you go on ahead? I will take a taxi and get there just in time for’

‘What rubbish! We are all going together.’

Sangeeta’s mother appeared. ‘Mummy’s what’s wrong with Daddy?’

‘I don’t know. If he doesn’t want to come, he can stay here. Let’s go.’

Time stood still for a few seconds. ‘But why?’ Sangeeta blurted out.

Everyone was silent. ‘Come on Daddy, 10 Most Influential Under 35. Not a mean achievement. You know, Suja was lobbying so hard to make it to this list.’

‘What’s the big deal? You were influential when you were under thirty and you will be influential when you cross forty. In a few years, we’ll have 10 Most Influential Under 40. I can attend that.’

Sangeeta slowly sat down, tears in her eyes. ‘But this is important to me! Why aren’t you’ She choked on her own words.

‘Why couldn’t you make it home last week when that boy and his family came to see you?’

Sangeeta’s tears flowed freely now. ‘I really couldn’t. I was stuck in that meeting. I just’

Surprisingly Sachin came to her rescue. ‘Sangeeta don’t cry. This isn’t the time for that. Let’s go. Let Daddy stay here.’

‘Why is it that you haven’t liked any of the boys we showed you? What do you think you are?’ Her father’s voice almost broke with emotion.

‘Daddy, if I meet someone I like, I will marry him, I promise.’

‘Fine, after you marry someone, I’ll start attending these functions.’

‘Daddy please, please come. I need you.’

‘You don’t need me. You don’t need anybody. You are very selfish. Go to hell!’

Sangeeta started sobbing uncontrollably. ‘You made her cry,’ her mother accused her father.

‘Like hell I did.’

‘We’ll be late. Who’s coming?’ Sachin asked.

‘Okay, stop this nonsense. I will come, but you people go ahead. I will join you.’ Sangeeta’s father had a grim look on his face.

‘I can’t not go for this one,’ Sangeeta explained through her tears. This is so very important.’

‘I need five minutes to get ready. Do you want to wait for five minutes or do you want to’

‘We’ll wait Daddy. Let’s go together.’

Sangeeta’s father smiled and said, ‘give me two minutes.’ However, he continued to look very unhappy.

‘Hurry up Daddy,’ Sangeeta urged him. ‘we are going to be late, but don’t worry.’

‘We won’t be late. I’ll get you there in 40 minutes,’ Sachin promised them all.

‘Like hell. You will drive carefully or I can take a taxi,’ her father warned Sachin.

‘Don’t blame me for Sangeeta not getting married!’

‘I’m not blaming you for Sangeeta not getting married. I’m warning you against driving recklessly.’

Sachin threw the car keys to the table and plonked down on the sofa. ‘You could have allowed her to marry that Bengali guy! Then we wouldn’t have had all this’

Sangeeta sat down and buried her face in her hands, sobbing silently.

‘Are all of you happy?’ Sangeeta’s mother demanded.

‘Sangeeta, honey, I’m so sorry. Let’s go. You are my angel. I only want you to be happy. Give me two minutes, I’ll be right back.’

Sangeeta continued to sob for another minute before she straightened up. ‘Why is everyone doing this to me?’ she demanded through her tears.

‘You go get dressed,’ her mother ordered her father who hesitated for a second before going upstairs.

Short Story: WTF

‘wtf”, Ashok’s text message read and my heart sank.

‘listen there are others like you. i was only trying to help them,’ I texted back. However, it was too late, because when I gathered the courage to call Ashok thirty minutes later, he did not answer.

I logged in and deleted my facebook status update. Over fifteen people had liked it already.

I went back to bed and tried to sleep, but couldn’t. I watched a movie and later, as dawn broke, went for a run. I always feel good after a run and the shower made me feel even better. I forgot all about Ashok until the bell rang.

‘Come to the station right away,’ the policeman commanded, even as he looked at the plate of half eaten fried eggs.

The Circle Inspector waved Ashok’s note in my face. ‘Sandeep Kumar is responsible for my death,’ it stated cryptically.

‘Oh shit! He actually killed himself!’

‘What did you do?’ the Circle Inspector asked me in a not unkind voice. He was in his early fifties and had lots of grey hair. A man who had risen up through the ranks. This definitely wasn’t the first time someone committed suicide and left behind a note blaming someone else for his death.

I took a deep breath and said, ‘Ashok contacted me last night saying he wanted to talk to me. He said he felt suicidal.’

‘And then?’ They didn’t like the pause I took, but I needed to breathe before I could speak again.

‘I spoke to him for over an hour. Ashok had just lost his job and he is divorced. He thanked me at the end and that was it. I went to bed.’

‘So why’s he blaming you?’

‘I just don’t know.’

They kept me at the station for another hour and then let me go. ‘You must be available if we need you. Don’t leave the city till this case is closed.’

I humbly nodded.

Would they find out about that facebook status update, I wondered. Thankfully Ashok didn’t have many friends and I was sure we didn’t have facebook friends in common. That update had received fifteen likes, which meant at least fifteen had read it. Would any of them hear of Ashok’s suicide and inform the cops? I needn’t have worried since the cops knocked on my door later that evening and took me to the station once again.

‘We’re charging you for abetment,’ the Circle Inspector told me. Ashok’s brother was sitting across the table from him.

‘What did I do?’ I demanded.

Ashok’s brother wordlessly showed me his phone. It had a screenshot of my facebook update. ‘Talked a good friend out of committing suicide. So easy and feel so good.’

‘Get yourself a good lawyer. It shouldn’t be too difficult to convince the judge that you didn’t mean anything.’

‘Didn’t you know that Ashok would read your update?’ his brother tearfully demanded of me.

‘Sorry,’ I said and felt really stupid. ‘How did you see this update?’ I asked even as a constable indicated that I follow him. Ashok’s brother was not friends with me on facebook.

He hesitated. ‘Ashok had liked your update and so it appeared in my feed.’

‘WTF!’

Short Story: A Brief Encounter at the Lower Parel Peninsula Junction

Mumbai is notorious for its traffic jams and ever since I moved to this vibrant city six months ago, I’ve spent more time waiting at traffic signals than anywhere else outdoors. Today morning, on the way to office, while my Uber cab was waiting at the Lower Parel Peninsula junction for a red signal to disappear, my I-Phone lost its connectivity for a few seconds, sufficient time for me to observe that the black and yellow taxi which had drawn up along-side had a single occupant, a pretty woman. At first I thought she was in her early thirties, then I realised that she was a fair bit older than that. I glanced away and then made a semi-circular motion that allowed me to look at the woman again. She had applied her make-up with care, but was not well-off. Her clothes were neither stylish nor fashionable. Rather, the salwar and kameez were well-worn. A lower middle-class face. I quickly looked at her again, for the third time and decided that she was not pretty at all, rather, she had very average looks, even though she had obviously taken a lot of trouble to appear her best.

I smirked to myself. Probably a secretary or receptionist working for one of those run-of-the-mill outfits. I could picture her working for a paan chewing boss who sat on a sagging sofa and entertained guests with piping hot sugary tea served in small steel glasses, a plate full of greasy samosas dripping with oil, by the side.

I went back to my I-Phone and lazily flipped through Facebook. There were no new status updates and the two friends who had their birthdays had already been wished.

The traffic hadn’t moved and the woman and her taxi were still there. The woman stared straight ahead, as if she were craning her neck to look ahead. She appeared to be a bit nervous or even anxious, as if she were psyching herself for a tough day ahead. Why did she have to be worried as she headed for work? That she was headed towards an office, I had no doubt, since she looked as if she was on her regular commute and her black hand-bag had a well-worn look.

I looked at the woman again. There was a tenaciousness about her that was attractive. Even her clothes showed a bit of fighting spirit. They were not new and were faded, but had been maintained well. The handbag was neither branded nor new, but it could have been taken anywhere without embarrassment. It wasn’t tacky and didn’t have a cheap look either, though I was sure that the woman hadn’t bust her bank in order to buy it. A fighter, she had obviously worked hard to raise above her social settings. I could imagine her struggling with her English while studying at a suburban arts college close to her home, her hard work helping her acquire greater fluency as she progressed. The woman herself was an example of how something which is average can be shown to be much better than it is. A quick glance would mark her out to be a beautiful woman. Her hair was tied up in a loose, but elegant ponytail and her make-up was immaculate, neither pan-cake like nor too light. I looked at her again and decided that she was actually quite attractive.

The traffic showed signs of starting to move. I saw that the woman was rolling down her window. Was she planning to buy something from one of the loitering children selling trinkets? No, she was asking me something, the fingers of her palm half-turned in the universal sign for a question, her lovely lips forming an O. Was it me? Yes, the woman was definitely looking at me and saying something. Did she require directions?

I too rolled down my window with a smile. Should I ask the woman for her name and number once I had answered her question, whatever it might be?

The woman said something short and sharp once again. The traffic was starting to move.

‘What?’ I asked

‘Why are you staring at me so much, you nasty @#$%?’

I was dumbfounded. I hadn’t been staring at her at all. Actually I had been, but it was not the sort of staring which required to be penalised. I was at a loss for words. I quickly turned around in my seat and looked straight. My driver, a man fairly younger than me, gave me a nastier look without a hint of any sympathy. My heart was beating fast. To be accused of something so cheap and downmarket was not the best way to start the day, was it? I hazarded one last look. The former object of my affections was looking straight ahead, annoyance writ large on her face.

Why had I stared at that woman so much? I hadn’t even found her particularly attractive after the second glance. I had done so because I found her to be curiously different. If she had been someone from my class, an attractive upper middle-class woman on the way to office, I would have looked at her surreptitiously. A quick glance, followed by a circular movement that would allow me a second view for a few nanoseconds. It would never have been more than that. Did I stare at this woman so intensely because I was sure she was not from the upper classes and hence someone who would be tolerant of masculine stares? I just don’t know, except that these days, while commuting by cab I am a lot more circumspect when I look at women, any woman.

Short Story: The Exit

‘Could you please give me another 30 mins?’ Radha asked her with exquisite politeness.

Pratiksha frowned with annoyance, and muttered ‘okay’. As if she had a choice.

‘You have the forms I sent you, right?’ she asked Radha, but Radha had already disconnected.

Time seemed to stand still. Everyone was busy working, with occasional eruptions of laughter or office banter. Everyone ignored her. Once she smiled at one of Ahmed’s jokes and slightly turned her head in the hope of connecting with someone, but no one met her eyes.

Someone clapped her gently on the back. ‘All the best Pratiksha. Keep in touch.’ It was Simoné. Of all people.

‘You’re off early?’ She so wanted to slap Simoné’s fat ass.

‘I need to. School play.’

Why not? Boss would have so benevolently assented when Simoné asked her for permission to leave early, in her usual simpering way.

‘You keep in touch, okay?’ Simoné repeated and started to walk away fast, her expensive shoes making a tiny pitter-patter sound, as if the school play would not start if she didn’t make it on time.

‘Of course Simoné. I will,’ Pratiksha called after Simoné, speaking louder than required. The extra volume did have some effect. Two of her colleagues moved their necks a bit. She would never keep in touch with Simoné, of course. Simoné had done more to mess up her life at Harvey’s than anyone else, except Boss of course.

She decided to get herself another coffee, even though Boss’s cabin was on the way. She made it safely to the orange and brown monster, but on her way back, Cappuccino in hand, she was spotted. Pratiksha wanted to ignore the wave which beckoned her inside. I’ll come back later to say goodbye, but right now, I’d like to enjoy my coffee in peace, before it gets cold, she wanted to say. She opened the door gently and went inside. How could a working cabin be so spick and span?

‘I’m going to miss you so much.’ Pratiksha tried not to stare at Boss’s bright pink lipstick, but failed, as she had failed many times in the past. Should she tell Boss before she finally left that the lipstick was two shades too bright and made her look silly? Sort of like a middle-aged whore. If only she could bring herself to say that, she was sure that Boss’s painted mouth would go agape like a gold fish and it would be so funny!

‘I’m going to miss you too Ma’am. In fact, I will miss everyone here.’ Pratiksha’s voice almost sounded sincere.

Boss gave her a knowing smile and adjusted a wispy tendril of perfectly dyed hair which was out of place. ‘Always remember what I told you. Attention to detail. If you get that right, you will go places.’

I am not a fucking twenty seven year old to be told that, Pratiksha wanted to scream. She had been, for all practical purposes, number two in the department, being not so much younger than Boss.

‘Yes Ma’am,’ she said.

‘You’ll be there for the house warming, right?’

‘Of course. I so want to see your new flat. Everyone’s been raving about it.’

‘I wish I hadn’t got carried away. I’m totally broke.’

‘I’m sure it’s all worth it.’

Pratiksha’s mobile rang. ‘It’s Radha. For my exit interview. It was supposed to have been twenty minutes ago.’

‘HR is always like that. They are so slow and inefficient.’

Hopefully they would be civilised and hear her out, Pratiksha hoped. Radha had been involved in her recruitment and she ought to remember some of the promises made when she was poached from her previous job.

‘Tell them all that you think is relevant. It will be useful for everyone, including me.’

‘Of course Ma’am, but I’ve already told you whatever I had to say.’ Pratiksha walked out quickly clutching her lukewarm Cappuccino.

Radha had brought someone else with her, which was unusual. Wasn’t an exit interview meant to be a one-on-one thing, something like a confession in a Catholic church? Pratiksha tried to imagine Simoné at confession, kneeling and blurting out her sins to a potbellied clergyman and it made her smile. Radha smiled back.

‘This is Selvi, she will do your exit interview. I have this meeting I cannot get out of.’ Radha practically ran away before Pratiksha could say a word.

What the fuck? Selvi looked as if she were still in college. What was the message being conveyed to her by having her exit interview taken by someone so junior? That whatever she had to say would be ignored?

Selvi gave her an encouraging smile and took out a sheaf of forms. ‘I’ve gone through your responses. Shall we start?’ Who the hell gave Selvi the right to sound so confident, especially when she had such a pronounced south Indian accent and was so young?

‘You’ve written that you felt suffocated on account of the way you were treated by your boss. Did you say this directly to your boss?’

‘Yes I did. Smothered was the word I used, not suffocated.’

‘Yes, yes, but did you tell her that?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what was the response?’

Boss had smiled at that. ‘I had already put in my papers, so it didn’t matter. Also, I think Mandira felt threatened by me and so she made my life miserable.’

‘Why didn’t you discuss it with her before putting in your papers? It may have made a difference.’

‘I don’t think so.’

Why do you, Selvi’s lips formed the words, but she didn’t. Instead she started to read from the forms which Pratiksha had completed.

‘Mandira has a patronising attitude towards everyone in the department. She micro-manages things and there is little freedom while executing. She refuses to differentiate between someone with five years’ experience and someone with fifteen. She encourages everyone to call her Ma’am or Boss even though the rest of the organisation is on a first name basis. There is no proper hierarchy within the department and everyone directly reports to Mandira. She used to get my reportees to ignore me and talk to her directly. Later she took away my assistants and made me do a lot of junior level work.’

‘Hmm, but everyone likes her.’ Selvi gave her an odd look. Why are you an exception? The unspoken words hung in the air like an accusation.

Pratiksha smiled. There was a lot more she could have written, but now she was glad she didn’t. What a waste!

‘I wish you had discussed all this beforehand. It would have’

‘Never mind. I’m sure you’ll pass on my feedback to Mandira and the CEO.’

‘Of course.’ What on earth would that achieve? Selvi seemed to wonder.

She got back to her work area and to an air of expectancy.

‘She’s here,’ Ahmed shouted.

Someone picked up the phone and said ‘Ma’am, she’s back.’

Boss came marching in, carrying a large box, gift wrapped in pink.

‘Did you think we would let you go just like that?’ Boss demanded.

It matches the colour of your lipstick, Pratiksha wanted to say.

‘So how long have you been with us?’ Boss enquired.

‘Almost two years.’ Everyone else was a long-timer. Boss herself had been with the organisation for over twenty years.

‘Times flies,’ Boss said. Everyone nodded.

Ahmed came close and whispered in her ear. ‘Boss really liked you. She hates to see you leave. If you change your mind even now.’ Pratiksha gave Ahmed an incredulous look.

Boss is so sweet, even after Pratiksha said so many things to her face, she’s giving her a farewell gift, they all seemed to be thinking.

Take a deep breath, deep, deep breath, she told herself. This too shall pass. And it did.

‘We’ll see you next week at the house warming,’ they told her in turns. Pratiksha kept nodding, though she was pretty sure that she wouldn’t go.

Finally it was over and she walked out, clutching a box with her personal effects. Ahmed came running after her.

‘Listen, you’re attending the house warming next week, aren’t you?’

‘Yes of course. Definitely.’ One more white lie didn’t matter. They wouldn’t miss her.

‘We’re pooling in money to buy Boss a gift. You want to contribute?’ Ahmed had a playful smile on his face.

If she was planning to attend the house warming, she would want to contribute, wouldn’t she? On the other hand, if she was planning to bunk, she wouldn’t.

‘Of course. This is so convenient. I was wondering what I could get her. Pooling is such a good idea. Pratiksha parted with two crisp thousand rupees notes that were still warm from the ATM and walked away quickly before Ahmed or anyone else could make any other demand on her.

Short Story: A Tale Of Two Speeches

My mom gave me an encouraging smile as I wriggled my leg under the table. I wasn’t nervous, not in the least. Rather, I felt infinitely superior to the lesser beings who were all around me, some of whom awaited us in the college auditorium. I’ll keep it simple,’ I told my mom who didn’t look too pleased at my proposal to dumb down.

‘You do what you think is right,’ Sheela auntie told me. Sheela auntie was my mom’s best friend. She didn’t need to give any such instructions to her son Arun who looked very comfortable in his skin, finishing off the last of his sweet nectar-like coffee with a loud slurp.

‘Some more coffee for you Arun?’ my mom asked.

‘Yes, please Kala auntie. This is lovely coffee. One of the things I miss over there. The coffee one gets there is atrocious. Like a bitter pill.’

‘I’ve got used to it,’ I said. My mom gave me a pained look as she rang the bell.

The attendant who came in beamed at all of us.

‘Krishna, one more coffee for Arun.’ Krishna was in his early fifties and I’ve known him since I was a toddler, just as I’ve known Sheela auntie and Arun since my infancy.

‘What about you moné?’ Krishna asked me even as he nodded in response to my mom’s order. Mon literally meant ‘son’, but in Kerala, it was liberally used by all and sundry when addressing a much younger man.

‘No, not for me.

‘When do you leave?’ Krishna asked me, as he started to walk out.

‘In a week’s time.’

‘And you moné? Krishna stopped at the door, his hand on the doorknob.

‘I’ve just got here. I’m not going back,’ Arun said with a chuckle.

‘I wish,’ Sheela auntie said. ‘He’ll leave in two weeks,’ she told Krishna.

‘Get him married before he goes away,’ Krishna advised her and left.

‘If only these kids would obey us in matters such as these,’ my mom started one of her usual tirades.

‘Oh never mind them. I’ve got used to the idea that Arun may not marry the sort of girl I have in mind. It doesn’t matter. I’m good at adjusting, even when I don’t get what I want.’

‘Oh Arun is a sensible boy. Unlike Shibin. Shibin just doesn’t care how I feel.’

‘But Shibin will make you happy. You always get what you want.’ Sheela auntie’s voice had become mellow. A little too mellow. It wasn’t too long ago that my mom had pipped her to the principal’s post, a position both women had aspired to, ever since they joined St. Theresa’s as junior lecturers.

Krishna came back with a cup of coffee for Arun and lingered.

‘What’s it Krishna?’ My mom’s voice was sharp. We were in the principal’s office and she reigned supreme in there.

‘Oh nothing!’ Krishna left in a huff. Arun chuckled.

‘He wants to talk to me regarding his son. He’s been pestering me to find a job for him in America.’

‘As if you are working in the Gulf! ‘You can’t take all and sundry to America!’ Sheela auntie was annoyed.

‘He knows that,’ my mom said. ‘He’s not that stupid.’

‘It’s okay Mummy,’ Arun told Kala auntie. ‘I’ll speak to him anyways. I do have a friend in Qatar who may be able to’

‘That would be wonderful,’ both women chimed in.

I looked at my watch and said, ‘didn’t we say 11:00 a.m.?’

The four of us trooped out, walking through long corridors, past classrooms, some noisy and some suspiciously silent. ‘B.Com, first and third years. M.Com, both years,’ my mom whispered to me, as I followed her. Sheela auntie and Arun brought up the rear.

‘You have nothing to do with any of them right? Even when you used to teach?’

‘Nope, why would a physics teacher have dealings with commerce students?’ I gave mom a knowing smile, even though I no longer shared her contempt for students who studied subjects other then science, engineering or medicine.

‘Sheela would know them somewhat. She takes English for First Year B.Com.’ Mom spoke loud enough for Sheela auntie to hear.

‘I must have taught all of them, but I am so bad with names, I doubt if I can recall more than a few names.’

‘But what about your current class? Surely you would know their names?’ Arun was bemused.

‘The English literature department has eight teachers. We take turns to teach B.Com students. I devote most of my time for the M.A students, especially the final years.’ I realized that contempt for other disciplines was not the monopoly of science teachers.

‘Arun, if you want an introduction, why not say so? Your mother would not mind introducing you to any number of pretty young women.’

‘Ha! Ha! Very funny.’

There was no time to say more since we were suddenly inside the auditorium, which was half full. There must have been around two hundred students in there, in ages ranging from the late teens to the early twenties. I was suddenly conscious of being a single man, albeit in my early thirties. I turned around to look at Arun who showed no signs of nervousness, let alone look flustered as I was.

The Head of the Commerce Department walked over to us, followed by three colleagues. Gracy auntie was also an acquaintance, but I didn’t know her as well as I knew Sheela auntie. I was sure that Arun didn’t know her all that well either, Gracy auntie was around five years younger than our mothers and they weren’t close, but Arun greeted her like a long-long friend, as he did with her colleagues who were even younger. One of them actually blushed. It helped that Arun was a few inches taller than the average Malayalee and rather good-looking.

‘This is such an honour. Two boys from our town, children of our own faculty, both did MBAs from the US and now both of them are successful investment bankers in New York.’

‘I’m not an investment banker. I do econometrics modeling for a fund. And I did an M.S in Finance, not an MBA.’

Gracy auntie gave me a knowing smile, but I was sure she didn’t have a clue about the difference between investment banking, which Arun did, and econometrics modeling for hedge funds.

We walked over to the podium and took our seats. Gracy auntie started to speak and I tried to focus, but failed. Both Arun and I were expected to speak about what we did in the US, sort of a how-we-did-it, as in, how did each of us make it out of Kerala and do our Masters in the US and find employment in a supposedly lucrative field. Unlike Arun who did bread and butter investment banking, what I did was highly specialized. Econometrics involved the use of mathematical tools and models to price call and put options and to assess volatility in the market. My main role was to prepare models to price and value the derivatives the hedge fund I worked for invested in. I was currently working on a more efficient framework for pricing options using time integration schemes and nonlinear financial integration modeling, but I was sure that the audience would not appreciate any of that. I had to keep it simple and relevant. I realize that my mom was prodding me with her feet, none too gently. Grace auntie had finished her introduction and another teacher, I think her name was Vimala, was speaking, rather reading from a prepared sheet.

‘Shibin did his chemical engineering from BITS Pilani and then went to Texas for his Masters in Finance.’ Now he works for’

I frowned. I distinctly remembered writing in the bio I had prepared the previous night that I went to Austin for my Masters. University of Texas, Austin, that’s what I had written. What was the harm in saying so? Did Vimala know a lot about the US to modify what I was painstakingly written out for her benefit?

‘Arun did his mechanical engineering from NIT Warrangal and worked in Jamshedpur for two years before doing an MBA from Duke in Carolina. Duke in Carolina! Just like that. I was surely Arun had written Duke University, Fuqua School of Business, Durham, North Carolina. Was Vimala too scared to pronounce ‘Fuqua’? I turned sideways to look at Arun who seemed to be having a small laugh at the faux pas. ‘Now he works for XYZ, a top investment bank in New York.

Soon the introductions were over and I was facing the multitude. I took a deep breath as I started to speak. I knew I would end up speaking first, since my mom was the principal. If Sheela auntie had pipped my mom in the race to for the top job, I would be waiting for my turn, as Arun was. Arun didn’t seem to mind.

‘I use econometrics to build financial models for a hedge fund. How many of you know what a hedge fund is?’ I asked the students and waited for a response. There was none.

‘I’m sure you know what a mutual fund is.’ There were a few nods. ‘A hedge fund is a fund, in that it pools money from a number of people and makes investments, like a mutual fund. However, unlike mutual funds, a hedge fund collects money from a limited number of sophisticated individual or institutional investors, in other words, knowledgeable investors who can also afford to place their money at risk and invests them in a diverse pool of assets, using contrarian tactics, often with complex portfolio construction.’

I looked at the students again. Most of what I said had clearly gone above their heads. One would expect students studying commerce to know what a hedge fund was, but this was small town India where the smartest and the best joined either engineering or medical colleges.

‘Let’s focus on the basics,’ I said. ‘What’s a fund? Silence. ‘A pool of money.’ Why do people pool their money? Why is a fund managed by a professional fund manager? Why is a fund regulated by a regulator? In India, we have SEBI. In the US, a fund would be regulated by the SEC and FINRA.’ I continued to ask simple questions and give answers. After a while, I started to receive some responses and though they were rather silly, I felt encouraged. I continued in that vein for half and hour and concluded by saying that though I hadn’t spoken about what I did for a living, I hoped that I had added to their knowledge about investment management in general and funds in particular. There was some muted applause and I sat down feeling satisfied. My mom beamed at me. Sheela auntie gave me a congratulatory nod of her head. Arun however avoided my eyes.

‘I am an investment banker and I do leveraged buy-outs at XYZ ,’ Arun announced. I waited for Arun to explain what a leveraged buy-out was, something rather straightforward, but he didn’t. Instead, he spent ten minutes taking about XYZ, the i-bank he worked for, how it had a pedigree of over 100 years and how it had offices all over the world and its bankers led a jet-setting lifestyle. Then he went back to talking about leveraged buy-outs, using a lot of technical jargon, which sounded quite complicated, but actually wasn’t.

Arun mentioned a few anecdotes about his clients and their top honchos, taking care to disguise their names and identity. He then went back to talking about leveraged buyouts and the hostile takeovers which usually followed such a buyout. Soon, Arun had his audience at the edge of their seats even though they did not understand most of what he was saying. He gave a recent example of a leveraged buy-out, one which had hogged headlines in the financial press, but was actually handled by another investment bank, but who cared? The audience behaved as if Arun was a rock star or as if they were watching the latest Hollywood thriller. In vain I waited for Arun to say that a leveraged buyout was merely the acquisition by one company of another using a whale lot of borrowed money, at times even pledging the assets of the target company. If only Arun would give that basic clarification, most of what he said would make sense. Just another form of M&A, I wanted to stand up and say, only to make things easier for the young ones listening to Arun.

I turned to look at Sheela auntie and my mom. Sheela auntie was beaming, this time genuinely, though I was sure she didn’t understand any of the jargon Arun used. My mom was also listening intently, though at times she turned her head this way and that, to scan the students. I knew that she wasn’t too happy even though she hid her feelings well.

Arun spoke for almost an hour. Towards the end he concluded by saying that he hoped to see a number of St. Theresa’s students working as investment bankers in New York, London and other parts of the world. If they studied well and showed single-minded determination, they could easily reach where he had got to. The audience was ecstatic and gave him a standing ovation.

As well left the auditorium, Sheela auntie and Arun were all smiles. I too smiled at them and congratulated Arun for his excellent speech. I decided to look at the whole thing philosophically. After all, Arun’s victory had little value, but my mom didn’t say a word to me for the rest of that day.

A Very Short Story: Betrayal

‘Purohit, cheer up. Your job’s done and we’re celebrating.’ A brief hesitation and then Purohit smiled. It was a genuine smile which lit up his gaunt face, despite the large black bags under his eyes and then it was gone, just as abruptly. Another pat on the back from someone from behind, but Purohit didn’t look up. They were crammed into the meeting room, half of them didn’t have a chair to sit and everyone was sweating. For fuck’s sake, someone turn up the a/c, Purohit wanted to shout. A plate full of pedas appeared in front on him and he helped himself to a couple that were stuck together, using a leaden thumb and a forefinger which seemed to have forgotten how to bend.

‘The Director will be here any moment,’ someone standing behind him promised a weary colleague.

‘I still can’t believe we pulled it off.’ Purohit did not have to turn around to see who the speaker was. Among the dozen odd members of the back-up team, Ashok must have contributed the least to the entire operation and yet he was speaking! The person standing directly behind him exuded the heavy smell of sweat and at times the odour overpowered the fragrance of the air freshener.

‘I can’t believe you didn’t want to be around when the bastards were arrested.’

If you can’t believe it, then don’t, you fucking bastard. As Purohit remained silent, his admirer continued, ‘you had seen so much of them, you must have seen them at their worst. Didn’t you?’

‘Well yes,’ Purohit was forced to concede. Once again, an arm was thrown around his shoulder. He realised that a number of people were staring at him and he was forced to smile and make some conversation.

‘We were lucky,’ he said lamely.

Three newspapers were spread out on the table, plates of sweets circulating among them. ‘ROBBERY GANG BUSTED. TEN GANG MEMBERS ARRESTED.’

‘You stuck with it,’ his boss spoke again, his voice full of pride. ‘Fourteen months embedded inside such a ruthless gang and you held your nerve. If they had found you out, you’d have been dead meat.’

Next time, you do it yourself, Purohit silently told his boss. Silence was golden. People wouldn’t get offended with silence. At least not as much as they would if he were to express his thoughts.

The door opened once again and everyone held their breaths. No, it was not the Director. However, the bearer was welcome as he carried a tray with paper cups with coffee and tea. People parted way so that they could be served.

Most of the men were in their mid-thirties, just like Purohit. There were a few in their late twenties and a handful who were in their forties. ‘What sort of bastards were they? Really, really nasty and vicious or just hoodlums?’ a man in his late twenties asked him across the table. When Purohit remained silent, he repeated his question.

‘They were vicious,’ Purohit responded gruffly. But each of them had another side to them, he was about to add. No, it wouldn’t do. He would never be able to explain that to anyone else.

‘I saw the video of their last plan. Where they planned to break into that Noida farmhouse, not knowing that they were about to be nabbed.’ Sharmila giggled into his ears. Earlier he would have been delighted to receive such attention from Sharmila, but now, he couldn’t think of an appropriate reaction. Also, Sharmila seemed to have aged, her jowls disgustingly fleshy.

The door opened again and this time it was the Director, his tie slightly askew as usual. Those who were sitting, including Purohit, stood up. He was popular, the Director was, and he did not waste much time. Occupying the chair kept aside for him at the head of the conference table, he said, ‘I wish we could do more to honour our heroes, but we can’t. We knew that when we signed up and we might as well accept it. A man who spends over one year undercover deserves something more than a pat on the back and a medal.’ He then turned to Purohit and said, ‘we’ll need you to give evidence at the trial. Can you do that? It'll be in-camera and quick,’ the Director added.

‘Yes sir.’ Purohit had to clear his throat before he could speak.

‘Make sure he gets some R&R,’ the Director told Purohit’s boss. ‘Anyway, you’d be relieved to know that only nine of your former friends will be on trial.’

Bile rose up from inside Purohit’s stomach ‘Which one is not’

‘Pratap. What was his nick-name? Chappan? He was the least co-operative of the lot and our boys got carried away. He committed suicide using his bedsheet.’

Everyone laughed. ‘It’s amazing, the quality of bedsheets in our jails and police-stations.’

‘Was Chappan the most vicious of the lot?’

‘I don’t know. He had a terrific sense of humor. I always laughed at his jokes.’ Purohit looked very earnest and the Director suddenly looked puzzled.

‘Anyway, you’ve earned this medal.’ He got up and started to walk towards Purohit, but Purohit was halfway out of the room by then.

Short Story: Flight To Dreamland

As the pilot announced the descent into Heathrow, Benny wished he had opted for the much cheaper Ukranian Airways rather than expensive British Airways. The food had been unappetising and the stewardesses had mostly ignored him, especially after he requested a third drink. Never mind, he would recoup the cost of his air ticket within a month of landing in London. The immigration queue took longer than expected and Benny wondered if the corpulent man in a smelly jacket behind him, holding a large mobile device, could be persuaded to send a message to Jason who would be waiting outside. No, let the bugger wait, Benny decided, as he fingered his shiny new jacket. If only Airtel hadn’t demanded a deposit for international roaming, he could have called Jason from his mobile.

‘What do you plan to do here sir?’ the immigration officer asked politely.

Benny managed to make a hash of his prepared speech. ‘I want to see UK. I know about England and Scotland and Ireland and I come to see everything.’ As his bowels tightened and he swallowed his articles and burped out conjunctions, a funny feeling rose to his throat. Would the officer see through his miserable charade and deport him, Benny wondered.

‘What’s your occupation back home Sir?’

‘I am credit officer at Amrao Bank.’ It made sense, since tourist visas are usually issued to folks with solid, verifiable jobs, who would want to return home before their visas expired.

The officer looked up and grinned, as if they had known all along that the letter from Amrao Bank, which had been submitted months ago along with the visa application, was a forgery. As Benny steeled himself for the handcuffs that were on the way, cursing Jason for his pig-headed advice, he heard the words, ‘Welcome to the UK, enjoy your stay here.’ Benny nearly screamed with relief.

Outside the terminal, Benny would have hugged Jason if it hadn’t been for Jason’s scruffy appearance and nervous face. A man who had been in London for the past nine months and who was an assistant manager could surely be expected to dress better and look happier? ‘Have you been waiting for long?’ Benny politely asked Jason as they carefully scrutinised each other.

‘Not a problem mate,’ Jason responded in an accent which had undergone substantial change and Benny immediately felt better.

‘Where’s your car?' Benny demanded of Jason.

‘In the parking lot. Where else?’ Jason laughed and all was well.

‘Let’s go.'

As Benny sank into the luxurious seat next to the driver, he reached out and punched Jason on his shoulder and said, ‘you’ve got to tell me how you did all this, buy such a nice car, get a good job.’ There was no response from Jason who continued to have the same strange look. ‘Never mind, there’s plenty of time.’

Are we having dinner at a restaurant?’ After a few seconds, Benny added, ‘entirely up to you. Either way, you are paying for my meal.’ He laughed at his own joke. It was easy to laugh about food, now that every meal would most certainly include a meat dish.

Once they hit the motorway and saw other cars whizz past across multiple lanes, Jason exulted, ‘I can’t believe I made it. I am in London finally!’

‘I am working tonight,’ Jason informed Benny all of a sudden, breaking the silence.

‘Night shift? Aren’t you an Assistant Manager?’

‘It’s up to me, how and when I want to work.’

‘You mean, you can choose? Well, then don’t work tonight!’

‘This is a cab.’ Jason looked deadpan as he stared ahead and focussed on driving.

‘You mean you hired this car to pick me up?’

‘No, this car is a cab. I drive this car.’

‘Yes, I can see that you are driving this car. Jason, what are you saying?’

‘I drive this cab. They call it a mini-cab, it’s a private taxi, not a black cab.’

‘You mean you are a taxi driver?’

‘Yes, not a regular taxi driver, but a mini-cab driver.’

Why did you lie to me, you bastard? Benny almost screamed. Then Benny slowly said, ‘I’m sure you make enough to eat.’

‘Yes, these days I do.’

‘So when you promised to help me find a job, is this what you meant? A taxi driver’s job?’

Jason gave wry smile and said, ‘It’s not easy to be hired as a cab driver. Takes time. So............. maybe........ you could start working in a ...........restaurant?’

As Benny maintained his stunned silence, Jason said, ‘Don’t worry, I’m around, you’ll never go hungry. Also, there’s a temple near my place. They give free meals in the evenings.’

‘At a temple?’

‘Yes, vegetarian, but filling.’

‘Sounds good,’ Benny said and tried to smile.

A Taste of Kerala – Stories From Simhapara

A few years ago, on a lark, I wrote a collection of ten short stories set in Simhapara, a fictional village in Kerala. Published on Epic India Magazine and later on Winnowed, I thought it would be a good idea to have the links to these stories in one place. Here they are:

1. The Boy Who Killed A Rainbow

2. Hundred Rupees

3. A New Beginning

4. A Difficult Decision

5. A Pristine Landscape

6. New Kid On The Block

7. Bad Hair Day

8. The Hidden Smile

9. The Family Heirloom

10. A Suitable Father

The Other Charlie

On 31 May 2011, I had posted a short story Charlie. For those who liked it and for those who didn’t, I’d like to bring to your notice the existence of another Charlie on Epic India. The other Charlie was written first and has a different plot and ends differently (and has fewer characters too), though the initial few paragraphs are rather similar. Please do take a look and let me know which "Charlie" you like better (or dislike less)

Short Story: Charlie

I met Charlie for the first time inside Kunal’s Hyundai Accent. The three of them, Charlie, Kunal and the car, couldn’t have been more different from each other. The Hyundai Accent was sleek, shiny and snazzy, Kunal was short, stout, and sleazy and Charlie was, well, he was from the bogs. The orange tee-shirt and maroon jeans that he wore might have given Charlie the feeling that he was as good as any other man in Mumbai. The earring clipped to his left lobe did give him an air of dashing, but the half-broken front tooth, surrounded by the decaying, blackened remains of the rest of his teeth, was a dead giveaway.

‘That’s the building Sir. It’s on the fifth floor,’ Kunal told us as he stopped the car in what was evidently a no-parking zone.

‘Come on Sir, let’s go,’ Kunal said.

I hesitated. ‘You car will get towed away,’ I said.

‘No-parking zone. Can’t park here.’ Hitesh added. I sat back. I was just a trainee and I was darned if I moved when my boss was staying put.

‘Charlie will stay in the car Sir. Anyway, we won’t take more than five minutes.’

Charlie stared straight ahead and smiled. It was a nice smile, despite the state of his teeth. We got out of the car and crossed the road. We followed Kunal. How could someone so fat, move so fast?

‘Having Charlie inside the car as I show my clients around is cheaper than paying parking charges. And I save time as well.’

I thought no more about Charlie for a while after that since we had more pressing things to do. A new CEO was taking over in ten days’ time and the admin department was expected to have a home fit for a CEO all spruced up and ready when the new man arrived from Delhi. We had been referred to Kunal, who immediately promised to show us not less than six flats a day. ‘I know all the brokers who work for Landlords in this area,’ he glibly assured me over the phone.

‘How much do you charge? The usual one month’s rent?’

‘No Sir. One and half. I am much better than others, that’s why Sir.’

We had gone along, since we didn’t really have a choice. Kunal was as good as his word and soon Hitesh and I were at Kunal’s office, a small cubby-hole inside a shopping mall, not far from where the new flat was, to collect the keys. I was seeing Charlie outside a car for the first time. Standing behind Kunal’s chair, he looked much smaller than when he was inside the car, not more than five feet three and pencil thin.

‘Sir, thank you for coming here. If you could have told me the precise time you would arrive, I could have met you outside the flat and given you the keys.’ Kunal was as servile as ever.

‘We don’t mind,’ Hitesh spoke for both of us, though I did mind. It didn’t matter. I was just a trainee and wasn’t expected to have a mind of my own. ‘I wasn’t sure when I would be finishing work,’ Hitesh added.

‘Sir, you work Saturdays?’ Kunal sounded shocked.

‘Sometimes, I have to,’ Hitesh admitted, not trying too hard to dispel the hint of martyrdom in his voice.

‘We work on Sundays too,’ Charlie piped in. ‘Sheth works everyday and so do I.’ That was the first time I had heard Charlie speak and his accent was such that you could smell the slum on him.

As far as I could make out, Charlie had nothing much to do in that office, other than maybe clean it everyday. He definitely wasn’t capable of doing any paperwork. Why on earth did Kunal have to have Charlie with him at all times? Maybe so that he could take him in his car if he had to take a client to view flats at short notice. Parking charges in Bandra were pretty high.

‘Sir, this folder has all the documents. Your CEO’s police NoC, a copy of the leave and licence agreement…’

‘And what else?’

‘That’s it Sir. Door-to-door service Sir. You didn’t have to worry about your CEO’s police verification did you Sir?’

‘No, no..’

‘And the registration hardly took any time, did it Sir?’

‘No, no.......’

‘If you had gone on your own Sir, it would have taken you a whole day Sir.’

‘I know, I know..’ Hitesh mumbled. Why doesn’t he give Kunal a piece of his mind? I wondered. Bloody hell, we had paid this bugger three lakh rupees. He might as well fix the police verification and deed registration without blowing his trumpet about it.

‘Sir, Charlie will take you to the flat.’

‘We can go ourselves. Just give me the keys.’

‘Sure Sir. Here are the keys Sir. But…’ At that Kunal stopped and leaned over to Hitesh. ‘Please take Charlie with you Sir. The flat needs cleaning, doesn’t it? Get Charlie to do it for you. Pay him something, but agree on the price first.’

Yes, the flat was dirty and it would take some labour to get it tidy before the furniture arrived on Monday. I couldn’t think of a decent excuse to not take Charlie and get him to do the cleaning, though I could see that Hitesh would rather not utilise Charlie’s labour. I could see that he had for some reason taken a dislike to Charlie though I couldn’t figure out why. I hoped Hitesh wouldn’t turn down Kunal’s offer and ask me to clean the flat myself. For heaven’s sake, I was a trainee in the admin department and not a domestic help. Thankfully Hitesh said, ‘sure, that’s a good idea. When does he finish work? Six?’

‘No Sir No.’ You can take him now. I don’t mind.’

‘Okay. Good. Charlie, come on. Let’s go.’

‘Charlie, do a good job for Sir. Sir, please take these keys. This is for the front door, this here….,’

Hitesh pocketed the keys and walked out. I followed him and Charlie trailed us both. The moment we were out of the shopping mall, Charlie quickened his pace and started to walk by our side.

‘I have been with my Sheth for sixteen years. I started with his father. Sixteen years,’ he added in English.

I nodded my head politely, whilst Hitesh ignored him. ‘Where do you stay Charlie?’ I asked him.

‘Mira Road.’

‘You come to Bandra by train everyday?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is Charlie your real name?’

‘No, it’s Kailash. Sheth’s father gave me the name Charlie.

‘I’ll take a quick look at the flat and push off. You hang around and make sure this boy cleans the flat,’ Hitesh told me. I nodded my head, but Hitesh wasn’t looking at me anymore.

Do you have soap powder and a broom? And a bucket and a mug?’ Charlie asked Hitesh.

‘Look at me,’ Hitesh said giving Charlie an exasperated look. ‘Am I carrying soap powder and a bucket?’

‘Well, we better buy them. There’s that shop over there. It’s got all that we need. We need some wifers also. Wifers clean mast.’ I wanted to ask what a wifer was, but didn’t.

Charlie elbowed his way through the rush of people who crowded around the long formica table that separated the shopkeeper and his goods from the customers. Hitesh and I meekly followed Charlie, ignoring the irritated looks we got.

‘One broom. A bucket. Mug. Soap powder. Cleaning spray. And a wifer. And three of that.’ Charlie’s finger pointed to a pile of rough towels that could be used as mops. I waited for the shopkeeper to ask Charlie what a wifer was, but he didn’t. Instead he said, ‘we have run out of ……….’ Did the shopkeeper too say wifer? I wasn’t sure. Before Charlie could respond, he added, ‘there’s a new cleaning fluid. Take it.’

‘Should we go elsewhere for the, the…. the wifer?’ Hitesh asked Charlie. Slowly it dawned on me that Charlie was talking about a wiper.

‘No, don’t bother. Those cloth mops will do.’ I knew that Hitesh would be irritated because Charlie didn’t call him ‘Sir’ as Kunal did. I was pretty sure that when he agreed to take Charlie along, Hitesh had taken for granted that Charlie would be even more obsequious than Kunal.

Charlie then raised his voice and told the shopkeeper. ‘give us a discount.’ He then turned to Hitesh and said, ‘I always buy cleaning products from here. He’ll give us a discount.’

‘I don’t care about the discount,’ Hitesh muttered to me. ‘We will be able to claim anything that has an invoice.’

I guessed what Hitesh was worried about. Whatever he paid Charlie would not have an invoice. ‘Maybe we can ask Kunal to give us an invoice for the money we pay Charlie,’ I suggested.

‘Like hell we will get an invoice,’ Hitesh’s voice was bitter. ‘This is a nice scheme that Kunal has set up. I am sure he pays Charlie next to nothing, though he uses him to save on parking fees. Instead we end up paying this bastard exorbitant amounts to get some cleaning done.’

Ha! So this was why Hitesh had taken a dislike to Charlie. ‘We don’t know how much Charlie will want us to pay him,’ I whispered.

Hitesh ignored my comment and muttered, ‘I’m sure the prices here are inflated by ten percent for people like us, so that Charlie can get us a discount.’ ‘Maybe he is getting a kickback from the shopkeeper every month for the cleaning products he buys for the people whose houses he cleans.’

As Hitesh paid the shopkeeper, Charlie told the shopkeeper, ‘give me three Frootis.’ He took out his wallet and extracted a fifty-rupee note. ‘This one’s for you,’ Charlie pushed two Frootis towards us.

‘I don’t want one.’ Hitesh’s voice brooked no further entreaties.

‘Go on, have one. I am a bindass chap. I am just treating the three of us.

‘I don’t want one.’

I had no option but to say that I didn’t want one either, though it was very hot and I would have liked to have had a Frooti. ‘Okay. I’ll just take two and give one to my Sheth. No, it won’t be cold when I give it to him. I’ll buy one for him later. I’ll only take one.’ Charlie pushed two Frootis back to the other end of the counter.

We walked to the flat, Charlie carrying the bucket with everything in it. Everything except the broom which was in my hand.

‘Once he finishes the Frooti, make sure you give him the broom,’ Hitesh told me and walked ahead. Charlie and I followed him.

‘Listen, Hitesh is an Assistant Manager in the Admin Department. He is a big guy. You ought to call him Sir,’ I suggested to Charlie in a low monotone.

‘But I never call anyone Sir. Not even my Sheth.’ Charlie’s quick response was loud enough for Hitesh to hear, though Hitesh didn’t turn back. I could however see the back of his neck turn red. Charlie finished the Frooti and threw away the tetra pack, but he didn’t offer to take the broom from me. Here, take this as well, I wanted to tell him, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

The flat was large and airy, supposedly one of the most luxurious two bedroom flats in Bandra. However, it was rather depressing inside. The previous tenants seemed to have played the who-can-sprinkle-more-dust game with mud-splattered feet, followed by who-clogs-the-drain-first. And then replaced all bulbs and tube-lights with ones that didn’t work. Finally they had probably played guess-what-I-just-broke.

Charlie took one look around the flat and asked Hitesh, ‘how much will you pay me?’

‘How much do you want?

‘Thousand rupees.’

‘Can you do it for five hundred?’ Hitesh asked.

Charlie hesitated and said, ‘No. I could go down to nine hundred.’

‘That’s still too high for half-a-day’s work.

Charlie shrugged his shoulders and stood there silently. ‘You will be paying two lakhs per month as rent for this flat. Can’t you pay me nine hundred rupees?’

‘This is not my money my friend. It is the company’s money.’

‘Won’t your company be paying the rent for this flat?’

‘Yes, so what?’

‘And it can’t pay me nine hundred rupees?’

‘It can, but it won’t. You carry on. I’ll get someone else to clean the flat.’

‘No problem. Maybe you can ask one of the neighbours if they can spare a maid.’

Hitesh looked up and down at Charlie as if he were something that should rightfully be inside the expensive but dirty toilet attached to the master bedroom.

“Give me a call, if you don’t find a maid, but I’ll never call you Sir.’ With that Charlie was off. I wished I had half, no, one-fourth, of his guts. I would have happily parted with all the money in my bank account, which wasn’t much, and pledged my salary for the next one year to have acquired Charlie’s guts and devil-may-care attitude.

After Charlie closed the door behind him, Hitesh said, ‘we’ve got to have this place cleaned up by tomorrow evening. We can’t have dirt all over the place when the furniture arrives Monday morning.’

‘We could go out and find someone else. Maybe Kunal can send someone else. Why don’t we...?’

‘Why don’t we ask the neighbours if they can spare a maid for a few hours?’

‘Sure. I hope the neighbours turn out to be helpful.’

I think I sounded hesitant because Hitesh looked at me as if I was being silly. Why on earth wouldn’t the neighbours jump at the opportunity to lend us a maid? his look suggested.

We went out of the flat and paused outside the neighbouring flat. There were only two flats on each floor. A deathly silence prevailed. Hitesh pressed the buzzer and we waited. The deathly silence continued. Hitesh pressed the buzzer yet again. It was a Saturday. Surely someone had to be at home!

Just as we were preparing to turn around and leave, the door opened and a woman in her mid-thirties stood in front of us. Hitesh and I breathed a sigh of relief. From the woman’s attire and her demeanour, it was obvious that she belonged to that endangered species referred to as ‘maids’, without whom day-to-day life would collapse all over the world.

‘Hello!’ I was tongue-tied for a moment. What should I say? That I, a mere trainee had just moved into flat 401, one of the most luxurious flats in Bandra? Hitesh obviously did not suffer from such inhibitions.

‘We have just moved into that flat.’ Hitesh jerked his thumb behind.

‘Yes.’

‘W need someone to clean the flat. It is very dirty.’

We got a mumbled response that I didn’t comprehend. What was she saying? That she would do it right away?

‘Excuse me?’ Hitesh moved forward a bit and that caused the gentle creature in front of us to retreat in fear.

‘I work here full-time.’

‘So what? Can’t you take a couple of hours off and clean our flat? I’ll pay you two hundred rupees. At that, a look of disdain passed over that gentle creature’s features who shouted out for her mistress. ‘Mem-sa’ab!’ The lady of the house materialised from nowhere.

‘We have just moved into flat 401 and I was asking your maid if she could clean my flat. I will pay her of course.’

‘If she goes to clean your flat, who will do my work?’

‘It’s just for a few hours.’ How could you be so unreasonable as to prevent your poor maid from making a little extra? Hitesh seemed to ask.

‘No.’

‘But what’s the big deal?’ The woman turned her head and said something and a big deal appeared in the form of the woman’s husband, tall, well-built and moustachioed.

‘What’s the matter?’ His deep-throated voice was a roar.

‘These men want our bai to clean their flat. I said No, but they won’t listen’

Hello! I did not ask your bai to clean the flat. He did. No, I didn’t say that, though I wanted to.

‘Just for two hours. I only…’

‘Didn’t she say No?’ Was the man a policeman? He certainly sounded like one!

Hitesh mumbled his apologies for having wasted their very, very valuable time and left.

We then took the lift went downstairs to the lobby. The concierge was very courteous.

‘I just moved into Flat 401. I need a a maidservant. Someone who can clean the Flat…’

‘Sir, you are from the company Sir?’

‘What?’ Hitesh was nonplussed.

‘Your CEO will move in on Tuesday right?’

‘I am a Manager in the Admin Department.’ Now Hitesh was angry.

‘Okay Sir. Now what do you want?’

‘I want a maid who can clean the flat. It’s very dirty.’ Hitesh managed to make it sound as if it was the concierge’s fault that the flat was dirty.

‘Okay Sir. I will ask someone to come and meet you Monday morning Sir.’

‘But I want it cleaned today or tomorrow. We have furniture arriving early in the morning on Monday. A regular maid can wait.’

‘I don’t know Sir. Today is Saturday Sir. Saturday afternoon. Let me see Sir.’

We went back to the flat.

‘You know, if I were younger, I would have cleaned it myself. It’s not such a big deal, you know,’ Hitesh told me as he flicked a piece of paper off a window sill. I ignored the remark, pointedly looking at my shoes.

‘Call Charlie!’ Hitesh finally told me, with the air of a bankrupt businessman ordering a fire sale. ‘I am going to make that piece of shit work so hard, that he will remember it for the rest of his life.’

I called up Kunal. ‘Yes, we changed our minds. We want Charlie to do the cleaning. Yes, we will pay him what he had asked.’

Ten minutes later there was a knock on the door. It was Charlie.

As Hitesh and I stood by silently, Charlie picked up the broom and started sweeping the floor in the living room without much ado. Hitesh and I walked around the flat aimlessly.

‘Please don’t go there. I just swept it. Take a look at the hall? Isn’t the floor almost clean? Once I scrub it, it will be mast.’

‘Okay.’ ‘I hate the word mast.’ Hitesh muttered to me.

Soon Charlie was scrubbing the floor with soapy water. ‘Isn’t it looking mast?’ he would ask us every few minutes. ‘Yes, it’s looking better.’ Hitesh would respond. I kept quiet.

‘If I scrub the window panes with a cloth, it won’t look mast. I need a wifer for it. Else, it will have marks all over and the window will look darkish.’

‘Never mind, just clean it with a cloth.’

‘Okay,’ Charlie agreed.

‘Aren’t the floors really mast now?’

I had to admit that Charlie was doing a good job. However, Hitesh wasn’t impressed. ‘Listen, you’ve got to clean the doors and windows, remember.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘I’m going to make this little pipsqueak call me Sir,’ Hitesh muttered to me with a smile on his face.

‘How are you going to do it?’

‘Pay him an extra hundred. I’m sure he will do it. I never call anyone Sir. Not even my Sheth’ I laughed at Hitesh’s falsetto voice.

Watching Charlie clean the place was not unlike watching paint dry. It’s relatively comfortable watching paint dry if you are sitting rather than standing. Since there was not a single piece of furniture inside the house, we had to stand.

‘I’m going to use the loo.’

‘I’ve just cleaned the toilet!’ Charlie protested as he saw Hitesh open the toilet’s door.

‘I know. Does it mean no one can use it hereafter?’

When Hitesh came out he said, ‘there’s no point in hanging around here. I am going to go down and have a bite. You stay here.’

‘Actually, I’m hungry as well. I’ll also come down.’ I could tell that Hitesh didn’t like it all that much, but he said nothing. We went down and walked a bit till we came to a small kiosk by the road. Save for a teenager standing by the counter, munching on something fried and greasy, it had no customers.

‘I’ll have a vada pav,’ Hitesh announced.

‘I’m going to buy a packet of biscuits and eat it on my way back.’

‘You won’t satisfy your hunger with a packet of biscuits. Have a vada pav as well. Go on.’

‘No. No.’ There must have been something about the way I compressed my lips as I spoke that stopped Hitesh from pressing me any further.

Hitesh licked clean his oily thumb and forefinger and then used them to gingerly prise out his wallet from his hip pocket. Holding the brown wallet in the clean palm of his left hand, he gingerly took out a twenty rupee note and paid for his vada pav. However as he tried to put back his wallet, he dropped it. Before I could pick it up, the teenager who was leaving, bent down and picked it up. I grabbed it from him and told Hitesh, ‘turn around. Let me put it back for you.’

Hitesh’s trousers must have been a tad too tight for him and I had to use a bit of force to shove his wallet back inside his hip pocket.

‘Don’t you want to buy a packet of biscuits?’

‘No, I am no longer hungry.’ That got me a strange look, but I ignored it.

We went to the flat and Charlie was still hard at work.

‘Please leave your shoes outside. They are bound to be dirty!’

We stood around for some more time, both Hitesh and I surfing the internet on our mobile phones. I really don’t know how I would have survived those two hours if I didn’t have internet access.

Soon we heard water running from the washbasin and a few minutes later Charlie stood in front of us wiping his wet hands on his trousers. ‘All done!’ But Hitesh wasn’t done yet. ‘There are some stains on the front door. Here, take a look.’

Charlie promptly picked up a wet mop and a bottle of cleaning fluid, sprayed it liberally on the door and started scrubbing it enthusiastically. As soon as he was done, he ran over to the kitchen, put the fluid and wet mop on the kitchen top near the sink and went to the toilet to wash his hands once more. I walked around and looked. Charlie had done a good job.

‘There’s still so much dust and dirt everywhere!’ Hitesh muttered to me, ‘but this is the best this bastard can do.’

‘Now watch this,’ Hitesh told me. ‘Charlie, why won’t you call me Sir, like your Sheth does?’

Charlie looked at Hitesh, at a total loss for words.

‘Not that it matters to me, but I’d like to know why.’ Hitesh spoke very gently, not unlike a school master trying to understand a student’s dyslexia.

‘I just never call anyone....’

‘Charlie, if you call me Sir, I will pay you a hundred rupees more. Call me Sir and I’ll pay you a thousand rupees. If not, I can only pay your nine hundred. What’ll it be? A thousand or a nine hundred?’

Charlie had obviously never been offered a hundred rupees to address someone as “Sir”. He was puzzled, but not angry. ‘Why not? I will call you “Sir”. And you will...’

‘Pay you a hundred extra, a thousand rupees in all.’

‘Sir.’

‘Go on!’

‘I just did.’

‘Did what?’

‘Called you “Sir”.’

‘I didn’t hear it. Come on, once more.’

‘Sir. You are a “Sir”.’

‘Okay. Good lad. Now here’s the money.’ Hitesh took out his wallet and opened it. I looked at Hitesh and not his wallet. I could see his face fall. It was not very difficult to see why. Hitesh’s wallet didn’t have a single rupee inside! His cards were there, but the currency notes were gone.

‘Where’s my money?’ Hitesh demanded of the world at large. ‘That boy at the vada pav shop must have swiped it when he fell. He must have been very quick. How could he.............’

‘Where’s my thousand rupees?’ Charlie demanded of Hitesh.

‘Don’t worry. I have the money. I took out my wallet as Charlie looked on gratefully.

‘Do you have enough?’ Hitesh asked me. ‘If not, we can go to an ATM and get some money.’

‘I have, I have.. I have eight hundred and ninety rupees. And I have some change as well. I took out fifteen rupees in change.

Do you have any change?’ I asked Hitesh.

Hitesh dug into his pockets and came up with a two rupee coin. ‘Never mind, we’ll go to an ATM and get some money. And I want to find that boy who picked up my wallet.’

‘You aren’t going anywhere. I want my money first.’

‘Here’s nine hundred rupees.’ I gave the notes and coins to Charlie who pocketed the money. ‘And we’ll give you the rest soon.’

‘No, I want it now. Or else..’

‘Or else what?’ Hitesh was furious.

‘Or else, I’ll break your nose’ Charlie gripped Hitesh by his arm. I could see the colour drain out of his face. Hitesh was no street fighter! I too drew back frightened.

‘Listen, we have paid you nine hundred rupees. That was the agreed amount!’

‘Yes, but you made me call you “Sir”. Now pay me hundred rupees right away.’

‘That was just a joke!’

‘Was it? Well, it’s your turn now.’

‘What?’

‘Call me “Sir”!’

‘You got to be kidding.’

‘You better call me “Sir” or else...’

Charlie fist was much smaller than Hitesh’s or mine, but it was a lot more menacing.

‘Sir!’ Hitesh spluttered out the words.

Charlie seemed to be shocked as well. He had not expected such an easy capitulation.

‘Once more!’

‘What! I just called you.

‘But I called you "Sir" three or four times.’

‘Sir!’ This time, Hitesh spoke reluctantly, but his words were clear nevertheless.

As we walked to the nearest ATM machine, Hitesh and I didn’t utter a single word, other than Hitesh telling me, ‘make sure you are around when the furniture arrives on Monday.’

Hitesh withdrew a thousand rupees from the ATM after which he caught a prowling auto and quickly disappeared from sight. I slowly walked on to Bandra railway station. As I entered, I saw a rather healthy looking beggar, a man in his early forties. On an impulse, I gave him fifty rupees. I decided that I would be generous with every beggar I saw that evening.