White Horse

“I will be back by 7 girls. Don’t you dare go to Stomach2 without me.” Anjali raised her pointer at Anita and then Sonia.

“And Anjali! if you do not get your fat ass in here by 7,” said Anita unperturbed by her friend’s mock threats, “I swear I will just leave. I have worked my butt off this week and I have been dreaming of Chinese Indian, stomach2 chilli paneer to be specific.”She was lazily spread out on her mattress which she dropped almost to the floor level, chopping the legs of her cot off. Her usual weekend pose. Another mattress was on the floor with sheets dishevelled from use and pillows thrown about. Sonia sat on it and painted some pink on her long toe nails, shifting her gaze to see her nails through her hair that was constantly falling into her eyes.

“Sonia how do you tolerate your long tresses in this humidity.” grumbled Anjali. “Though I must admit, I like it here. Bombay is such an alive city and a girl can truly do what she pleases here.” She took a break from her frantic handbag packing, to walk over to the window and look at the sea. This was her favourite spot in Anita and Sonia’s two-room flat in Andheri. The din of the city drowned the crashing of the waves but the mesmerising swing in them shined through the afternoon glare.

Anita and Sonia maintained a college dorm atmosphere and it suited Anjali just fine. Anjali had moved into Bombay two months ago and was still put up on the extra mattress in Anita’s room. Between the long hours at work and her high impossible expectations for an apartment in the metro, she had not found a place of her own to move into yet. Anita, her college mate, had opened their doors to her and between she and her flatmate, Sonia, they provided a natural extension of college life which had ended less than a year ago.

“That’s funny Anjali. Did you say a “girl” versus a lady or woman or old hag? You are a woman of marriageable age or is it past marriageable age,” mocked Sonia and ducked a cushion scorned at her by Anjali.

“Do not worry Sonia. I am sure Anjali is just heading out for yet another setup by her mom.”

“No. Heavens no! My mother promised that all I had to do was collect the stuff she sent from Delhi. She swore there was no guy for me to see. You call yourselves friends! Please at least wish me well.” Anjali threw her bag on her shoulders and planted her sunglasses in her hair, just long enough to cover her ears. “My guy is out there and will reveal himself to me riding a white horse and scoop me into the sunset.” She declared as she stepped out of the room.

“He will have to be one strong guy to scoop Anjali off her feet,” said Anita who never missed an opportunity to mock Anjali’s girth which was just large enough to produce discontent.

“Is she serious about this white horse bull-shit? Where is she going to find a white horse in Bombay! On one hand she sounds sane, so full of life one would think she would be dying to share it with a special person. But she is in dreamy dream world about a white horse. Just a guy yaar! How hard can it be. Gosh!”, spewed Sonia looking up from her toes and dilating her pretty eyes with each exclamation in her speech.

“She is just scared Sonia. Are you not scared of ending up with the wrong guy? It is a strategy called Don’t play, Don’t lose.”



Anjali’s left shoe heel cracked even before she reached the main road to catch a three-wheeler auto rickshaw to the station. “Damned these cheap Bandra shoes!”, she cursed and too lazy to walk back, she swaggered to one side to spare the weak heel pressure. “Andheri station,” instructed Anjali to the auto rickshaw driver as she pulled out the address and mapped out her path to get there. She would have to take the train from Andheri in to Dadar and then change to Central line at Dadar to get to Chembur station and then take another auto or taxi to this address. Anjali did not mind the long ride, for the trains would not be crowded on a weekend and her mother would have send her favourite spice mixes to be eaten with hot rice and oil.
What if it was true. What if this was another setup. An elaborate arrangement concocted by her mother. Shit!

The last time, just a month after she moved into Bombay, she was asked to go meet an eligible just-right-for-you “boy” at a restaurant. Anjali protested and agreed just to save face for her parents on the promise that they would never do this again. He had turned out to be a worm, squirming at the start of every sentence and wringing his hands and scratching his nose every time she spoke and sneezed throughout the dinner from some allergy he had picked up on the way. “Don’t worry, my mother has the best home-made remedy for this!” he had said not realising that there was no bigger put-off for Anjali than a guy who ran to his mother at 30. She had pulled out two hundred rupee notes, placed it under a sweating glass of lemon juice and wished him luck.

Anjali bought her tickets and seated herself on one of the hard seats next to window. She sat so she could see the landscape run away as the train moved and so that the wind would not flap the pages of the Cosmo which she carried in her bag for reads on long rides. The compartment was empty except for a young boy and girl who had walked in just ahead of her. They had occupied separate spots but as the train strained out of the station, the boy moved next to the girl’s seat and it became clear to Anjali that the train was their private spot. He toyed with her hair and she threw coy glances at Anjali as she giggled coquettishly.

Anjali, embarrassed, slouched and subsided behind the magazine. For the rest of the journey, Anjali neither read her Cosmo nor looked out of the window. She was just jealous of the young ones. How she wished she could tell her parents that this is the relationship she wants with her man; light-hearted, young, innocent, careless love; eyes that laugh at each other, love that could find itself in a train compartment. She could not convince herself that she would get that from anyone her parents arranged for her. Yes, he would be a socio-economic, religious, educational match; it would probably be a solid and vacuum packed marriage like her parents’ lasting forever; may be even their horoscopes would match but would they feel a connection? One that was natural, that did not need working on; that would not be a management project like the ones at her work, that would just fit right in, that would sit on the right spot like the corner of this compartment?

Anjali knew she was getting no younger. At 28, she was too old to get the good young ones her mother complained. Now she has to settle for the old ones way past 35. Anjali had tried to explain to her that she would rather wait till eternity for the right person than settle for someone to start a family with. She had no urge to procreate for the sake of it. Her mother had sternly replied, “Anjali, eternity ages you.”



Anjali waited in the auto queue. She bend forward a bit, lifted her short hair up at the back of her neck a few inches to let some breeze, which had just started to drift about, to cool her down. A breeze meant possible rain. She hoped she could collect her stuff quick and leave after just a few niceties before the rain poured down. The stations could get very slushy very quick in Mumbai and she did not enjoy that at all.

Anjali greeted the people in the house pleasantly. There was Mr. Narayanan, her father’s classmate from many years ago, a thin man dressed in a white dhoti and pressed white cotton shirt just the way her father would when he had visitors coming over. Mrs. Narayanan walked in with a tray of snacks and coffee exclaiming how she had seen Anjali when she was really very young and how big and accomplished she had become. What time does she get home every day and does she cook her own meals? There was an old lady by the corner who was peering at Anjali from afar as if she had been instructed to stay away and a little girl hiding from behind the dining room divider and peeking at her. The whole family seems to have been waiting for her. She was being watched. And Anjali knew this meant only one thing.

Disappointment was beginning to well up in Anjali’s eyes. Her parents were relentless and even as she had run away from them, they followed her and spied on her hundreds of miles away. The only smart way to wriggle out of this is to pretend to not understand what was going on. So Anjali, politely asked for her package. She had an appointment she did not want to be late for, she lied.

“Anjali. You seem to be a very nice girl”, said Mr. Narayanan. “My son, Naresh has just stepped out to drop the car at the mechanic. Why don’t you have some coffee while you wait for him and we can talk some more.”

“How are you liking Bombay, my child,” said Mrs. Narayanan, getting up from her seat to pick
up the plate of snacks to offer Anjali which she politely declined. The elder lady then seized the positional advantage to sit next to Anjali and stroked the top of her head.

“God bless you my child. You are very pretty; as fair as your mother”, she said shocking Anjali who felt a rage rising in her. Anjali hated these situations where she had to confront an elder – and a stranger who showed unreciprocated intimacy; it was contradictory to her upbringing and required self-restraint beyond her capacity. “Damn you mom”, she thought, collected her thoughts and turned to answer Mrs Narayanan, wanting to take her leave and scoot before The Naresh turned up.

Just then, the front door knob turned and a surly man walked in throwing his key on top of the little console by the door complaining, “My beautiful white Maruti car! Just a few scratches and the mechanic wants 3 days to fix it.”, he said wiping sweat of his brow with a kerchief he produced from the pockets of his pressed-three-days-ago kurta worn carelessly over never-ever-pressed khakis. He stopped talking when he turned and took in the frozen moment. He looked at his parents, too neatly dressed for a relaxing weekend, his niece pretending to be in hiding, and his grandmother assigned to her corner where she was sent when important guests came in. He ran his hands over his near-beard stubble and saw a young girl clearly of marriageable age wearing a look of shock and embarrassment with a plate of snacks in front of her on the table and a cup of coffee and he connected the dots.

“Amma, what is happening?”

“Naresh, meet Anjali. She came to pick up a packet which her parents had send from Delhi. Her dad and appa were classmates many years ago.”

“The packet came to us by mail. Why did her parents not send it to her directly?”

“Hi. Naresh,” Anjali interrupted, “looks like we have been set up to see each other. You do not appear very pleased but you can safely assume I am no less displeased.” She turned to Mrs. Narayanan and said, “Thank you for your hospitality aunty. I might as well pick up the packet and see what my parents have sent across. I got to get going.”

“Anjali dear, please do not be upset. Your parents and we are in the same boat. Naresh will not....” she glanced at Naresh and continued, “... settle down on his own and will not take our help and so....”

“Amma, I do not think you need to sob to everyone about this. Just get the packet”

Thunder tore through the skies and filled the silence in the room. Anjali picked up her belongings and the packet her parents had send. She smiled without looking into any one’s eyes.

“It is raining, I will take you to the main street where you can catch an auto. Assume you want to go to the station?” Naresh gathered a mega sized umbrella and closed the door behind him. They descended the three flights of stairs in silence. On reaching the landing he said, “Anjali, I am really sorry for this show of temper. All this must have been much worse for you. Please forget this and do not take it as a reflection of you. I am the problem here. I am just not a strong believer in marriage especially this sort where you get fixed up.”

“Naresh, there is one thing your mother is right about. Our parents are on the same boat.”
Naresh cracked a smile through his stubble and said, “I’d better get you to an auto before you need a boat in this rain. Water logs here very quickly.”

Naresh and Anjali walked under the huge umbrella with Anjali’s right shoulder and Naresh’s left getting wet. They were hearing the drops plop on the umbrella and Anjali said “You need not have bothered. I really do not mind getting wet and it is not raining all that much.”

“Well, I could not have let you go without giving you an umbrella at least and though it does not cost as much, my mother would have prodded me into getting it back from you just to create a pretext for us to meet. Anyway, at this point in time, I would rather not be at home. I wish my car not under repair or I would have dropped you myself.”

“That’s kind of you!” Anjali was about to say when her left ankle keeled over and she almost fell into Naresh. “Shit! My heel had cracked and I was hoping to get back home before this happened but.... now I have to limp.”

“There is a shoe shop by the station. Not a great one but it has cheap rain-worthy shoes. It is hidden in a narrow gulley by the ticket counter building.” They had reached the main road by then. “ Why don’t I just drop you at the station,” Naresh said flagging down an auto passing by and waiting for Anjali to get in.

They got off at the station together and Anjali walked into the shoe shop. She was getting very uncomfortable and had no desire to shoe shop with a total stranger but she did need one. There was nothing in the shop she would have bought on another day but seeing how modest Naresh’s footwear was Anjali did not complain.

The cashier’s machine had broken down and they had a long wait at the billing queue. Naresh enquired about Anjali and Anjali about Naresh. Anjali had not been in Bombay very long. Naresh had his own consulting company and did recruiting. Naresh did not like to be tied down by a job. He designed a career so he could be by himself and take no orders. Exactly why he feared marriage. Anjali knew what he meant. Anjali did not mind moving cities or countries for her career but she did not want to do it for a man’s unless he was special, unless he would do it for her too.

Anjali explained as they stood by the door to leave, the payment procedures all done, “If my parents fix someone for me, he will forever feel my superior as he is brought up to believe so in our culture. And even if he does not, I will feel he does.” Anjali took a deep breath in and continued articulating her view on marriage the best way she had ever. “ There is no place for magic in such a marriage and without magic, life is not worth living.”

Naresh was stunned. Had she just read his mind? He needed to hear more. He wanted her to go on and on and not stop.

“Anjali, I really do not want to head back home yet. I have a friend in Bandra who I will meet up with. Think we are headed the same way, how about I just drop you at Andheri station then.”

Anjali looked at him a little quizzically. “And I will be honest. I want to hear more.”

Anjali talked. Naresh listened. Naresh talked. Anjali listened.

“I am 28 years old. Just starting my career. I do not want a marriage that is a project at this stage in my life. My parents think I am getting old. But compromise on something so important? What is your story?”

“I am 32 years old. Just starting my career. I do not want a marriage that is a project at this stage in my life. My parents think I am getting old. But compromise on something so important?” Naresh said.

They both smiled. Then laughed. Stations went by. People came in, stayed a while, left. They changed trains at Dadar and the Western line to Andheri was getting crowded. They was no seating space. Standing next to each other, they swayed with the train. When Anjali would let go of her hold for a second to adjust her bag or ruffle her hair, Naresh would instinctively hold up his hand in mid-air to ready it for support if needed. Anjali felt there were only two people in the compartment.

Naresh suddenly got conscious of what he was wearing. He wished he had shaved at least on Friday but he had not had any client meetings since early in the week. Thankfully his cloths were washed if not pressed. His heart began to race when he realised that she was wearing a kurta and khaki pants too. So what if she seemed to be very well put together, at least her style was casual.... like his. Except the orange in her top reflected on her smooth skin and gave it a glow. Why was he watching her face? He tried to look away but could not. Something had changed.

“Do you really have a friend in Bandra?” Anjali dared.

“Not really.”

“Well then Andheri station is here. Why don’t we have a drink somewhere?”

The rain had stopped by then. Andheri wore a cleaned look if you did not look down at the muddy streets that is. Anjali braved the evening crowds and got into an auto with Naresh. In her first week in Bombay, Anita had taken Anjali to a play with her boyfriend and a few others. Anjali had fallen in love with the bar around that place. She knew if she had a deck and bar in her house in the future, that is what it would look like and if she had a boyfriend to go out with, that would be the place to go. She did not bother answering the question that raced in her mind. “Why are you taking Naresh there?”

“Prithvi jaana hai.” She instructed the auto driver before she sat down.



Anita and Sonia were vegetating in front of the TV watching the Ten o’clock news or what they cared to hear through Sonia’s channel surfing.

“She is still not back.”Sonia said as she walked to the window to open it wider for fresh air which she always needed after over-eating.

“Who? Anjali? That is not unusual. She might have decided to go to the beach, or a bookshop or meet up with someone. She is a freebird and will always be.”

“Hey look! Is that not Anjali?” Sonia said pointing down one of the streetlight. Anita peered through the dark night and could see Anjali with a man.

They checked periodically- after changing into their nightgowns; after brushing their teeth; at every commercial break on TV. It was close to midnight and Anjali showed no signs of proceeding upstairs.

“You think maybe.....,” started Sonia not finishing her thought.

“I don’t know. Could be.” Agreed Anita to something very un-specific.



They were both at the door when Anjali rang the bell.

“You missed Stomach2 and by the way who was that?”Anita asked.

“Was it your man on the white horse?” Sonia jumped the question.

“Does a White Maruti count?” Anjali asked with a spark in her eye.

Gift from Heaven

Mani hunched, digging his palms into his thighs to keep his body falling off from exhaustion. He heaved in a rush of the dusty evening air and eventually found the room between breaths to call out to his brother, “Anna!” The small dingy provisions store was crowded as it usually was in the evening time. Mani realised he had to be louder and gave himself a few more seconds to completely recover his breath. He could see Ram on the ladder in the store. He was busy trying to reach out for a box of detergent packets, which he threw down to the store manager. The 10 foot counter of the store was lined with people ordering, paying or waiting for their goods to be packed and Mani would not have been able to even spot Ram if he had not been perched on a ladder.

Walking back with his neighbourhood school friends, in his refitted white-once school shirt, Mani had found his house empty and the neighbour next door had given him the news. “I have done my best, my child and spent Forty three Rupees admitting her in one of the ward beds but I do not have Five Hundred Rupees to spare for the treatment. Why don’t you go ask Ram at the store?”

Mani’s mother had just had another one of her respiratory block episodes. Four Hundred and Eighty Seven Rupees was needed in the next couple of hours. This was the second time. A month ago, they had broken their earthen pot of savings and used up the Six Hundred and Fifty Six Rupees saved over five months of Ram’s job at the store. With high school behind him, Ram studied at night to graduate through one of those correspondence courses. In the day he worked at the provision store, a back breaking ten hour day running errands, moving boxes and whatever else for which the store did not have anyone specific to do. But they were happy for their mother did not have to work two jobs anymore and could get a break for the first time Mani remembered.

One of the shoppers made space to exit and a gap presented itself. Mani tactfully wedged himself in. Just then he bent down to pick up a packet of shampoo sachets dropped by someone and there under the counter slowly drifting was a gift from heaven. A five hundred rupee note. All else grew silent. The fresh batch of sweat breaking at the back of his neck chilled him. After one very long minute, Mani saw his fingers crumble the note and shove it into his pocket. He left silently unnoticed by Ram.


It was very quiet and very late when Mani stepped across the threshold of the house back from the hospital. Mani froze when he saw Ram’s torn shirt, his hair in disarray and eyes downcast. Mani wished the earth would open up and swallow him whole as he saw his brother’s bruised and beaten body crumble into his sobs.

“I told them I did not do it. No one would believe me.”

Flashback

Carry loved Nat. Sitting there beside him, his body stretched out; she could not think of anyone else she would have rather spent her life with. She was truly happy, the way she fancied one should feel at the end; the fullness of heart that came with such a life, she now knew what that was.

His hair was long, carelessly flowing down the sides of his dark long neck and covering his forehead. She had been the one to give him his haircut the day he went for his first big break. She had been with him through the trials; the sleepless nights where he needed his beauty sleep. She had readily given herself to him for she could not ask for more. So that out of her love would grow his sense of peace and it would root him when the hurricane winds of photo-shoots and auditions would blow over him. She had been there and he had grown on her.

Every morning she arranged his health foods for him. She managed his appointment books. She re-arranged her work hours so that she could leave just after him and come back late at night. He had to work really hard and many days he would not be home till the wee hours of the morning. But she made sure he had a home to come back to, a warm embrace to melt into and oranges and blueberries for the next morning.

The money came in slowly and there was not much at the beginning. She paid for his physical training sessions and patiently measured his chest grow inches. The day he got the Hawaii assignment, he had run into the house, he had swept her off her feet in one easy swoosh and said, “Carry, this is all because of you. I do not know how I will ever pay you back for this.” Carry had arranged his bags for him. But she did think why he had said 'repay'. The choice of words had chilled her spine. But she was overjoyed for him. It took a lot of hard work to be on the summer launch of Boisterous. And he was perfect for it.

She did feel uneasy when she waved bye to him at the airport. He had told her she did not have to take the trouble to park the car and he would make his way from the curb. Carry did not know why she obeyed her urge to turn the car and see him once more for even she knew this urge was not born purely of love.

She had come home shocked that night. It might have been a sweet embrace of a colleague but somehow it did not seem to her to be so. Even as she drove away from the curb the second time, she could see the lady’s long blonde tresses flow out of his chest and her body held in the muscles she had lovingly assessed and measured.

With him lying next to her back from his trip, she felt happy and contented for she now knew that he truly did love her. What else could explain the ring in his hand unfolding onto the pool of red.

“Hello ma’am. Is everything alright?” she heard a voice outside her apartment door and the only way she could reply was to feel the cold metal at her temple and pull the trigger.