“But that’s impossible,” she’d got angry at their foolishness. “Can’t you hear all the racket they’re making?” But she realised as she said that, that it had fallen silent.
None of us really trust security here, they are bumblers at best and rogues at worst. We are not sure which. So she decided to ask the families that lived on each side of the offending flat.
It was true! Nobody lived there. The owners live in the US, and she heard that any tenant who moves in moves out in a hurry; and the owners had all but given up on ever getting a family to stay put there.’
One of the kids opened its mouth in preparation of a bawl, but caught sight of Ira’s face and seemed to think better of it.
‘It seems,’ one of the ladies dropped her voice and leaned closer, ‘a female labourer jumped from one of the windows of the flat when the building was half constructed. With her child in her arms, poor thing. Something about debts and moneylenders. Everyone refuses to stay there now. I think they recently let it out to some single men at a throwaway rent, out of sheer desperation.’
‘So you’re saying…?’
‘Oh no no, not saying anything. There’s this rumour, then there are these occurrences. No connection at all.’ The ladies looked at each other and chortled.
Ira laughed too, but she realised it gave her no information for the job at hand.
She decided to cut to the chase, as the quieter one took a quick look at the golden wristwatch bracelet dangling from her wrist. Ira thought she might as well brazen it out now, no time for pussyfooting.
‘And what about the other stories? Perhaps something that would explain the dead guy in the lift on Wednesday night? Any of our neighbours who have violent tendencies? Deep, dark secrets? Mad people chained up in the spare bedroom types?’
Hahaha. The women were in splits again.
Ira glanced nervously at the ticking alarm clocks in their strollers. She felt like snapping her fingers in the women’s faces and saying, ‘Time is money, my friends’.
She made do instead with a martyred expression and no answering laugh, which served to quell much of their mirth.
The two exchanged looks and seemed to arrive at an unspoken agreement. ‘This has nothing to do with the murder of course…but we do have a few creepy neighbours who go places where they shouldn’t.’
Ira affected a look of polite interest in neighbourly gossip, but this sounded much more to the point compared to the story of Vedika’s ghostly upstairs neighbour. She ached to whip out the little pocketbook and tiny pen that she carried even though she rarely reported nowadays.
‘Please, don’t tell anyone. We don’t even discuss this with our closest neighbours…one feels…superstitious. Talking about it might bring it onto ourselves, you know?’
Ira had no idea what she meant but smiled just to humour them.
‘Arre… There’s someone who creeps about at night, yaar.’
This sounded infinitely more promising and Ira leant towards them.
‘Last month, Payal was putting her kids to bed, and had fallen asleep by mistake along with them.’
‘Always happens to me,’ started the silent one, but fell silent at Ira’s pained expression.
‘She woke up much later at night around midnight-ish, and was suddenly aware of a light coming on in the drawing room. Her husband wasn’t in town. She locked herself into the kids’ bedroom and called the neighbour who lives across the lawn from her. Payal asked the neighbour―Mitali, you know her?―to look out the window and tell her what she saw.
Mitali told me this story actually. She says she dropped what she was doing and ran to the window which looked into Payal’s living room. And she saw a man.’
‘What was he doing?’
‘He was looking at the bedroom door, standing right outside it. Mitali remembered yelling into the phone. “Payal, don’t come out for God’s sake, he’s standing right outside your door!” Then Mitali and her husband called security, got some of the neighbours and came around with whatever weapons they could improvise. By then he was gone, and the light had been switched off.’
‘Who was it? Could this Mitali tell?’
‘She couldn’t see his face, but she said it was a thin man, wearing a t-shirt and shorts.’
‘Shit! That’s scary.’
‘Hey, but that’s not the end of it.’
‘There’s more?’ What kind of a hellish apartment complex had she been living in for the last two years? This was awful.
‘Now, Payal and Mitali were so creeped out they didn’t talk about it much. The idea that it was one of the neighbours, made them hold their tongues I suppose, because otherwise they’re notorious gossipmongers.’
‘But then, another neighbour, Neel Roy, he’s Alok and Piyush’s dad?’
She waited a beat while Ira shook her head to indicate she didn’t know Alok and Piyush’s father either.
‘Well, he made an official complaint―one day in February of this year it was―that someone had been trying his door two nights in a row. He saw it only because he’s a late bird and happened to be sitting and reading in his front room the first day. And the second day he had kept vigil just to see if it happened again.’
‘And it did?’ Ira breathed.
‘Yup. There he was sitting on the couch and the door handle had turned slowly. Someone was trying to come in. Luckily, they had the Yale lock system installed on their doors on top of the standard issue locks; even we got it after these incidents. No one can get in from the outside, it’s an automatic lock. God knows why the Panorama builders thought the other system was better, this constant aping of the West, I tell you! The only problem with these Yale locks is, if you slam the door shut on your way out, and realise you don’t have your keys; you’re done for. I guess that’s why everyone hasn’t changed over to that system in the building yet. I have a feeling the murder will finally get our local locksmith lots of business!
Anyhow, we all got a little rattled and began talking about it, at which point the other two ladies came forward with their story. Theirs had happened at the end of January, just the previous month. God knows why they had kept quiet about it in the first place. Fear of reprisal?’
‘So, there’s a prowler here?’
‘Yup.’
‘Any stuff stolen? Property damaged?’
‘Never.’
‘Creepier and creepier. Which wing does it happen in?’
‘It happened in wings 1 and 3 so far. As far as we know. Which wing do you stay in, did you say?’
‘Wing 1, too!’ Ira made a mock-terrified face before going on. ‘What does security say?’
‘It was fleetingly discussed in one of the residents’ meetings. People were a little embarrassed to talk of this at length. Security was asked to do surprise checks in the corridors occasionally. Let’s just say we would be surprised if security actually did those checks.’ She rolled her eyes expressively and her friend tittered.
‘No occurrence after that?’
‘None that I have heard. It’s been five months!
‘Wow. Fascinating!’
The younger one piped up, ‘I’m Jayashree and this is Aditi, by the way. You are?’
‘Ira.’
‘Ira? Aaah!’ and they exchanged a look that spoke volumes. The paisa finally dropped and bounced extravagantly in the silence.
The blue-clad baby went off like a siren.
Ira thanked him silently for his impeccable timing.
She waved at them and said, ‘It’s about time I headed back, it was nice meeting you!’
Aditi was bent over her child trying to pacify him; but Jayashree stood watching Ira’s retreating back with a speculative expression before calling out after her. ‘I’m having a get-together this evening, flat 204 in Wing 2. I would love for you to come, get to know us ladies a little bit.’
Ira stopped short. ‘Sure, I’d love to!’ she called out and left with another wave.
Why not? Her new-found n
otoriety might get her a few free meals. And answers too.
As she entered her wing, she noticed that there was a lone constable sitting on a chair, looking like he could drop dead of boredom any minute.
Yes, my friend, Panorama Apartments has this effect at first acquaintance. Scratch the surface, though, and it’s quite a different story.
*****
Despite Ayan laughing at her plans to go to a ‘kitty party’, Ira had quite looked forward to the party all day. It was a perverse anticipation, since she knew it probably meant a lot of stares and unfortunate questions about the corpse and her marital status or lack thereof; but she fully intended to educate herself about her neighbours as well.
However, she had begun to get restive since the women had seemed disappointingly un-intrusive and well-mannered; and in fifteen minutes no information had been asked for, nor given, except for a quick round of introductions. Nandana was an invitee as well, and sat at the other end of the room with a quiet, rather formidable looking woman. This seemed to be her ‘group’, judging by the easy banter and the freedom with which she, along with the others, walked all over Jayashree’s home.
Ira had looked at her wrist watch for the second time when she was aware of someone who clinked and gave off waves of perfume standing over her.
It was Pallabi, who, though pretty in a plump, conventional way, reminded her subtly of Ursula from The Little Mermaid.
‘So Ira, you do some writing-shyting, don’t you?’ Pallabi asked, looking her up and down with lingering interest.
‘I suppose. I’m a journalist.’
‘Well, our Nandana here…she wants to do some part-time job, earn a little cash from home, you see. So, I think she should take up writing. Also, when one is bored and irritated at home, it is a good idea, no?’
Nandana had now moved to the kitchen with some of the other women to help the hostess distribute the luchi and aloor dum into Styrofoam plates. Had she not been out of ear shot, she may have stopped this conversation but Pallabi went inexorably on, ‘Can you get her some work? And how much does it pay?’
Ira hoped her stony face made it clear that the conversation should be discontinued. She snapped, ‘I don’t understand, what kind of writing does she want to do?’
‘All that I don’t know, you have to speak to her. Didn’t know there are kinds of writing. Writing is writing, na?’
Pallabi then moved on to extolling her own talents as a writer, ‘I have a blog, all my family and friends love it! So well described, Pallabi, using nice words; but not pretentious at all!’ she hastily added. ‘I can’t stand hi-fi writing, just trying to confuse people. I’ll send you the link. Give me your email id.’
‘Oh ah, sure.’ Ira felt like she’d landed in the path of a bulldozer in human guise. She handed over her business card while Pallabi made a faux-impressed face.
‘So, ah, can you help her? Perhaps for something at your paper?’
‘Really, there’s a procedure, a test to see ability, etc.’
The woman opened her eyes wide and contrived to look amazed and amused at the same time. Her perfect teeth gleamed.
‘Ability?’ Pallabi’s girlish laugh raked Ira’s nerves like fingernails. ‘Anybody can write, surely! She’s a graduate in something, one of those vague subjects which I can never remember; but a graduate nevertheless, of course she’ll be able to write.’
This pronouncement was made with such child-like innocence that Ira wondered if she really didn’t understand that every word she said was offensive to someone.
‘I wasn’t doubting her literacy.’ Ira smiled through gritted teeth.
‘There you go!’ The woman said, encouragingly. She patted Ira on the shoulder and moved off to Aditi, her next victim.
*****
Ira noticed that Aditi had decided to deflect Pallabi’s focus from herself after ten minutes of taking a beating. She had launched into a cringe-worthy paean to how wonderful her parents’ marriage was.
‘Sixty years of togetherness!’ Aditi crooned.
‘And they have loved each other so much every day. Daddy cannot drink tea made by anybody else but Mommy. “It doesn’t taste right,” he insists. Wherever she is she has to rush back before Daddy’s tea time. So sweet na?’
The little party murmured assent. Deepa, Nandana’s gaunt friend with a stern expression sat in a corner, but didn’t take part in the chorus, Ira noted.
Perhaps she agrees that sixty years of being on tea-duty call for a thoroughly unreasonable man didn’t sound like marriage goals. Ira decided to hold her peace, however, it was good to let the women talk. The conversation would inevitably turn to the murder at some point. Even Nandana seemed more interested in her keema ghoogni, brought in a Tupperware box by Pallabi, than the gush that was spilling forth in the room.
Jayashree sighed, ‘Such long, happy marriages. Nowadays toh marriages break up for the slightest of reasons, people don’t even wait for the serious stuff.’
‘Arre, my cousin,’ Pallabi broke in, ‘she is too into the whole modern thing. That day after ten whole years of marriage, two kids also you know, she told her parents, “I’m getting divorced.” My uncle and aunty, they are very liberal, very open-minded so they said, “Oh what happened, what did he do to you? You must tell us, we’ll go and make him regret it.”’
The women muttered in appreciation.
‘So supportive,’ Aditi gushed.
Nandana was taking an almost scientific interest in the composition of her keema ghoogni, while the angular, poker-faced lady appeared to have zoned out, perhaps composing grocery lists in her head.
Pallabi smiled proudly. ‘Yes indeed, my uncle toh had started to change into his outside clothes while she explained matters to them but soon he came and sat back down, my aunty told me.’
‘Why?’ There was a temporary hush, everyone wanted to know why Pallabi’s uncle had sat back down. Ira found herself leaning forward as well.
‘Because she had no valid reason, only! Both of them kept asking, “What do you mean you just don’t love him? Does he hit you? Does he sleep with other women, is he not paying the children’s school fees?”
Guess what she says? “It’s called irreconcilable differences, Bapi, we just don’t want to be married to each other anymore.”’
Tsk-tsks rose in the air.
‘Arre, what love will she find out there? A forty-year-old divorcee with two children, bolo? What kind of horrible life will they have with society only gossiping and gossiping?’
Ira glanced across at Nandana, and saw her shift in her seat, like it had got really hot.
Ira spoke up finally, more for something to do, than any urge to convert the crowd. ‘Well, perhaps it would help if society stopped gossiping, then your cousin can live in peace.’
‘Hyan, so young, so naïve!’ Pallabi smiled at her. ‘Can anyone stop society from talking?’
Nandana looked at Ira with interest. They made eye contact for a brief moment, and Ira was sure Nandana mouthed at her, ‘apparently not’, and grinned.
She grinned back.
*****
9
Tuesday, 11th September 2014
Nandana and her husband were locked in another argument across the breakfast table. Kushal was just finishing up on his boiled-eggs-and-toast breakfast and would leave for work in a few minutes. The children were already away at school, and so they could speak freely. Perhaps she could do more than ask Kushal to boil his head this time. To be honest, Nandana didn’t even remember what had started it, all she knew was she wasn’t taking it any more.
‘I’m sick of it. Sick of being taken for granted!’
‘What “taken for granted”? It’s become an obsession with you! Whatever I do, I do for you and the kids, I just need some time to myself after work; surely, I’m not asking the world of you?’
‘Yes, this constant citing of work would probably have worked on a woman who had never worked in an office. It’s really not as terrible as
you would like me to believe, nor as big a sacrifice. In fact, you’re lucky that you go.’
Kushal looked mutinous. ‘Look, I know it’s tough for you here. Your considerable talents feel wasted, housework was never your forte, etc. I get it. But let’s not go so far as to make me feel guilty for going to work. I hate it there. I hate my boss. I hate what I do for 9–10 hours a day, and then I go to sleep, and go and do it all over again the next day. I hate all of it. I just do it because we need the money. “Change your job” you’re about to say. Where to? It’ll be just a different sameness. I would kill to be able to stay home, just deal with simpler things; not always looking over my shoulder to see who’s stabbing me in the back. But can I chuck it all and even take a break? No.’
‘I…I didn’t know you hated it so much.’ Nandana was aghast.
‘There is no point telling people about it if there’s no solution, is there?’
Nandana stared at him for a while, feeling robbed of the pleasurable throb of righteous anger she nursed throughout her waking hours nowadays. In her daydreams she was free, still a mother and a wife, but valued, cherished; making her own decisions unencumbered by either role. Talking, laughing, meeting people, living. In short, she would think bitterly―what her husband enjoyed. The love of a family and the satisfaction of an independent life together, like it wasn’t mutually exclusive.
But what was this? Nandana felt her eyes focus on her husband for the first time in a long while. She realised he looked exhausted, with dark rings under his eyes and new furrows in his brow from frowning. Kushal passed a hand over his face as if to wipe away her searching look. He looked so tired, so old―she hadn’t really noticed before.
‘But would you like to…maybe, perhaps you can take a break and I…?’
Her husband looked fatigued and resigned. Like a desert of endless office stretched in front of his eyes as he spoke. Kushal passed his hand over his face again.
‘No, we both know that it’ll never work. Too many bridges burnt, too many logistical issues. You haven’t worked in a corporate for over a decade, there’s no way you can command anything close to a salary that will cover all our EMIs and bills.
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