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| artist : sachin venkatesh |
“Two Chicken Tandoori, medium spicy; two Dal Tadka and two plain rice with a pinch of lemon.”
The manager repeated the order to confirm and offered Manav an empty table.
“Would you like a drink while you wait sir?”
“Is it on the house?”
“Sorry sir, that’s only on special days, you can try your luck next time.”
Smart chap.
Manav smiled and looked around the restaurant as he sat. More than half the tables were occupied, not bad for a working day. They used to frequent this restaurant years ago, when they lived close to the Andheri flyover. Ananya’s birthdays were mostly celebrated here and she was still fond of the food. The visits declined after they moved to Versova a couple of years ago. The food was still good, so he had heard from his friends, else he wouldn’t have taken the trouble of coming so far, ignoring next-door joints like Lazeez and Urban Tadka.
A middle-aged couple sat in a corner, sipping beer lazily. On one table was a gang of noisy teenagers and at another was a group of young women celebrating someone’s birthday. They all chorused the birthday song, a little out of tune but with infectious joy. He followed the crown-shaped strawberry cake the waiter carried back to the kitchen, obviously to be cut and served later. His eyes came to rest on a familiar figure drinking whisky.
Do I know him? Is it? Could it be? Yes!
He went to the man and slapped him on the back.
“Hey Krish! Long time no see! What’s this? Drinking alone? I don’t remember you doing that before…”
“Manav!”
Krish, or Krishna Raju, was surprised.
“Good to see you man. Just enjoying a lonely evening. Come, join in.”
Why doesn’t his voice match his words?
Manav sat across him and watched as Krish sipped whisky, now and then chucking salted cashew nuts into his mouth.
Meeta never approved of the chewing noise he made.
Manav zoomed back 25 years. He and Meeta were sitting at the gynaecologist’s when Krish and Preeti walked in. As all other seats were occupied, Manav vacated his chair for Preeti. Krish gave him a smile.
A few minutes later Meeta asked Preeti, “Do you feel like eating Paani Puri?”
Manav was uncomfortable whenever Meeta spoke to strangers but he could never really get her out of the habit. He was afraid Preeti (he didn’t know her name then) wouldn’t like her audacity and she looked at Meeta awkwardly for a moment. Then she said,
“Actually, I just ate it yesterday but I could easily eat some more.”
After their checkup Meeta, Manav, Krish and Preeti headed off to Sharma Bhelpuri house, Meeta’s favourite. It was awkward for both Manav and Krish because they had just met, but Meeta and Preeti behaved as if they were sisters from their last birth. They all feasted on the chaat items, with both the ladies giving full marks to the Paani Puri.
“So?” Manav asked when they finally reached home.
“So what?” Meeta asked.
“What do you think of Krish and Preeti?”
“He makes a lot of noise while eating.”
That didn’t stop Meeta and Preeti from becoming good friends. The two husbands were not given an option. The outing was followed by phone calls, then frequent visits to each other’s houses.
Meeta and Preeti were admitted almost at the same time for delivery and while Manav had a baby girl, Krish had a son.
Manav said to Krish, “Krish, we’ve had a baby girl. Isn’t that great?”
Krish wrinkled his nose.
“A daughter is a liability. I always wanted a son.”
Manav wasn’t expecting this answer from Krish. They’d known each other for almost a year and debated the fall of the Babri Masjid, Narasimha Rao and Vajpayee and a host of other current issues, including Manav’s finance business and Krish’s diamond trade. Manav found Krish to be intelligent and knowledgeable. He even wore trendy clothes and you could mistake him for a model right out of a fashion show. But the ‘I want a son’ attitude rattled Manav.
“Krish, we are at the cusp of the 21st century. And you’re still discriminating between boys and girls? Whatever boys can do, girls can do equally well, and even better.”
“Can girls carry on the family name?”
Manav knew when a discussion turned pointless. Krish’s male chauvinist remarks made Manav uncomfortable and he began to avoid his new friend.
When Meeta and Ananya came home from hospital, Manav no longer spoke about Preeti and Krish. Krish called him many times, but Manav was not as friendly as before. Their meetings dwindled to special occasions like children’s birthdays.
On their anniversary Manav took Meeta and Ananya out of town and made it clear to Meeta that this was one occasion where Krish and Preeti couldn’t crash in. Preeti and Meeta remained best friends, though Meeta was mature enough to give her husband his private space.
Manav bought a new house, far from where Krish and Preeti lived and gradually they lost touch with each other. Manav vaguely remembered Meeta telling him that Krish and Preeti had had another son, and out of formality had called to congratulate him.
Manav and Meeta were happy with their Ananya and showered all their love on her.
Has he changed, or is he still the same?
Manav wondered now, sitting face to face with Krish after many years. Krish poured out one more peg and added ice and water to it.
“So how’s Meeta, and…”
“And?”
“I’m sorry I forgot your daughter’s name.”
He’s still treading the old path.
“Ananya. My daughter’s name is Ananya.”
“Why don’t you have a drink?”
Krish offered, a drawl in his voice. He’d probably been drinking for a while now.
“I haven’t come here to drink, only to pick up a takeaway dinner.”
Krish shrugged. Manav noticed a tinge of sadness in his eyes. And in his body language, there was more than a tinge of gloom – his shoulders drooped; his movements were slow and not all of it seemed to come from the alcohol in the bottle.
“How are you?” Manav asked. “And your family?”
Krish was silent for a while. He emptied his glass of whisky and barked, “Bastards! They’re all bastards!”
His voice was louder than necessary, and a few heads turned. Manav became conscious.
“Who are you talking about?”
“My sons. What did I not do for them? I gave them whatever they wanted. Vijit, the elder, he failed his HSC. I paid through my nose to get him a first class. In college he never paid any attention to studies. I wanted him to be an engineer but that son-of-a-bitch barely managed to scrape through with a commerce degree. When he couldn’t get a job anywhere, I gave him a loan to open a shop. He fell for one of his female customers and she conned him into selling the shop and using the money to start a modeling agency. Once she had what she wanted she dumped him, and he came back home with his tail between his legs. He refuses to look for a job and now I don’t want to give him whatever is left of my savings. So I come here to avoid him.”
Should I feel sorry for him? I think I should, but why don’t I?
“That’s bad. That’s really bad. He really should be capable of shouldering his responsibilities.”
“You agree, don’t you? But you know, you’re the only one who understands me. His mother defends him, saying I haven’t done enough to set him up in life.”
“But what about your other son?”
Krish’s face hardened. “Don’t talk about him. Don’t you talk to me about him!”
“Why? What happened?”
“After spending half my hard-earned money on Vijit, I pinned my hopes on Arnab. He is a studious chap and toiled day and night to become an engineer. He worked in an MNC for two years and then applied to a US university for an MBA. I was proud of him when he got through. This boy is going to be ‘mera naam karega roshan’ for me.”
“Well, that’s good. Maybe your elder son was a disappointment, but at least the younger one fulfilled your aspirations.”
“My foot! He coaxed me to apply for an educational loan to fund his MBA and I was a fool to trust him. Now he’s got a well-paying job at Coca Cola. But he hasn’t kept in touch. He doesn’t call us at all. A common friend whose son studied with him says he’s married an American girl and is ashamed of his Indian roots! On top of that, I’m still paying the instalments on his educational loan.”
“Well I’m sorry your sons didn’t turn out as you thought they would.”
The waiter came with Shekhar’s order and the bill. Shekhar gave him a credit card.
“How about your daughter? Err.. Ananya? Is she married?”
“No.”
“Best to marry off a daughter as soon as possible, you know. Takes a load off your shoulders.”
“Well, I don’t know about marriage – that’s for her to decide.”
Manav shook his head and poured out a large peg.
“Does she work? Everyone wants a working wife nowadays. And you still have to pay a dowry. Maybe not in cash or gold, but I hear that fathers are giving their daughters a two-bedroom flat as a gift, mind you. I’m sure you’ve arranged one for your daughter.”
“Well, it so happens that on our last wedding anniversary Ananya gifted me and my wife a world cruise.”
Krish’s glass stopped half way enroute to his lips. Manav enjoyed the view – Krish’s mouth agape and the glass in mid-air.
“Well, Meeta and I brought up Ananya strictly but gave her full freedom to explore her potential. Initially I wanted her to study engineering or medicine but since we had accepted her as an independent person with her own separate identity, we didn’t force her. We just made sure she imbibed three facts of life – stand on your own feet; do the work you love or love the work you do; and if you ever fall down, get up and stand on your own feet again.”
Was I being a sadist? Why am I enjoying the look on his face? Hell, I’ve waited two decades for this opportunity and am not about to let it pass by.
“Your daughter sponsored your world tour? Why? I… I mean, how?”
“After graduating in commerce, she joined an interior designing firm. In two years, she formed her own setup. She met and fell in love with an architect and they decided to become life-partners. As soon as they joined hands, they bagged a plum contract. Ananya always knew it was Meeta’s dream to go on a world tour but both of us were too busy bringing her up. So when she had enough money in the bank, the first thing she did was to gift us that tour.”
Krishna Raju looked here and there, then he looked at his glass. He wanted to say something but he didn’t know what.
He’s probably thinking if such a thing was possible. Well, he didn’t give himself a chance so what can I do?
“Today, it’s her fiance’s birthday, so they’re both coming home to celebrate.”
Krish was even more speechless, if such a state of mind was possible.
The waiter came back with the credit-card slip for signing. Manav got up after he left, hammering the final nail into the coffin, “And Krish, Ananya can’t carry on my family name, but I’m proud that she’s my daughter.”
©Neelesh Inamdar
About the Author :
Like all good Indian boys, Neelesh first completed his Chemical Engineering, then chose to become a filmmaker. He has to his credit a telefilm and one TV serial, besides working as a script supervisor in many indie movies. Like all tales, a twist put him on a flight to Abu Dhabi where he rekindled his love for writing which had submerged under the pressure of Bollywood deadlines. He has two short stories published in Women’s Era and co-written a novel, ‘The Assassination of George Bush’. In Abu Dhabi, he attends a workshop in novel writing, besides working on his first novel.
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