Charlie Next Door

by Debashish Irengbam

  Anupama looked out her window uneasily, promising herself she would only have half a glass of wine. Her low tolerance for alcohol had been a favorite party joke for years, and she didn’t intend to revive that tradition. Good thing she hadn’t had her daily shot of cough syrup.

  ‘By the way, Neena’s getting a friend along too,’ said Renu conversationally.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘No idea. She just bumped into him on the way, and he was going the same way, so you know.’

  Anupama narrowed her eyes. ‘Let me guess. Is he single?’

  ‘Divorced. Ex wife turned out to be a psycho. You know how it is. Anyway, how does it matter?’

  ‘Renu, if this turns out to be another pathetic blind date attempt by you guys to—’

  ‘Oh, I love this song!’ cried Renu, asking the driver to turn the volume all the way up.

  The moment she saw the hot hostess at the restaurant door, Anupama decided she would let Renu pick up the tab. Any place that could afford a stunning maître de was deemed unaffordable by her, especially when the bombshell happened to be wearing a pair of shoes that were three times the price of her sandals. Her apprehensions were further confirmed when they entered the grand buffet hall, at the centre of which lay a huge, gushing fountain, with spotless white-sheeted tables placed strategically around it in a semi-circle. Platinum card holders like Renu noted the ambience and appreciated its nuances. Debit card holders like Anupama quickly totted up the resulting surcharges they would have to pay as tribute to all the sho-sha, and debated whether to order mineral water or regular water.

  Neena was seated at one of the window-side tables, talking to a man who was seated with his back to them. Against her will, Anupama found her heartbeats pace up as they approached the duo. Neena was the first one to spot them.

  ‘Hey, you two!’ she trilled, as the man stood up and turned to face them with a smile; a smile that quickly dripped off when he spotted Anupama. Anupama froze too, staring back at him.

  ‘This is my friend, Dr Satish Kumar. He’s a—’

  ‘Gynaecologist,’ murmured Anupama.

  ‘Why, yes!’ cried Neena, surprised. ‘But how did you…’

  Now it was her and Renu’s turn to freeze. A condensed cloud of realization and embarrassment swept over the table.

  ‘Oh,’ said Renu.

  Anupama counted the days since her last appointment with him as she sat down, mortified to the bone.

  ‘Nice to see you again, Mrs Arora,’ said Dr Kumar, his face almost as reddish-pink as the roses on the table.

  ‘Likewise.’

  ‘You said you lived in Bandra,’ said Neena to Dr Kumar in an almost accusatory tone.

  ‘Yes, but my clinic’s in Malad.’

  The waiter strolled by. ‘Would you like to order some drinks, ma’am?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Anupama. ‘Wine. Red. Glass. No, make that a pint, actually.’

  The waiter nodded and turned to Renu, while Anupama and Dr Kumar struggled to look each other in the eye and smile at the same time.

  ‘So,’ he said brightly, ‘how’s that, er, balm working out for you?’

  Anupama turned back to the waiter. ‘You know what? Just make it a full bottle.’

  It was so funny, the way the raindrops danced across the window pane at night, and everything looked so spotty and blurry and wet. Puddles of yellow light and white light and black spots – all flirting with each other as they rushed past her. The windshield wipers swinging left and right, left and right, almost like they were doing a Mexican wave at her. A poster of an underwear model on a huge banner, with a smiley drawn in the middle of his crotch by some miscreant flashed by. A dog lay limply beneath a sidewalk store awning, eyes closed, one ear cocked; oblivious to the cat perched on a low wall right beside him. A light-skinned actor on a billboard for a men’s fairness cream. A local party chief being wished ‘Haardik Shubhkaamnayein’ on a giant hoarding with tigers and hawks and wrestlers photoshopped behind him. Was she drunk, or was the world always this hilarious?

  By the time they reached her place, the rain had slowed down to a barely existent drizzle, so Anupama half-walked, half-trotted up to her block, throwing an affectionate smile to the sleeping watchman in his cabin en-route. Her merry mood carried on unabated inside the elevator, as she hummed a tune to herself of a song whose lyrics she couldn’t quite remember.

  She had just reached the antara of her song when the lift halted at her floor. She stepped out, shut the doors and had just turned to her apartment door when she felt a draft of cool air on the back of her neck. That was odd. A second later, a rustle reached her ear, and she gasped as something prickly touched her foot. She whirled around to see – an empty wrapper of cream biscuits near her foot.

  What in God’s name?

  Her eyes shot up, almost as if expecting to see a ghost. The corridor suddenly felt empty and eerie. She swayed a bit, scanning the hallway with bleary eyes. The faintest flicker of light, or the softest footstep, and she would have passed out in shock. She waited and watched and listened. Nothing happened. Only the sound of her own heart thudding in her chest. Then, the cool zephyr touched her again, this time in the face. Gooseflesh broke out across her body. Where was it from? What was happening?

  She was on the verge of abandoning any semblance of having a spine and making a dash for cover in her apartment, when her eyes spotted the large plastic bag outside C-704. Charlie’s door. It had been stuffed beyond its capacity, and the top had ripped open spewing bits of paper, plastic and other litter about, probably owing to the nightly visit by the neighbourhood cat. Furthermore, the bag was fluttering every now and then signalling that the source of the breeze was on the other side. The combination of curiosity, wine and the resulting courage lent Anupama the will to step up and investigate the mystery for herself.

  Slowly and noiselessly, she crept up to Charlie’s door and peeked beyond to see a tell-tale sliver of light on the staircase which led up to the terrace. Odd, because the terrace door was always supposed to be kept locked as per society rules. She softly stepped forward to take a closer look – the terrace door was ajar. Someone had broken in! Her heart leapt up for the second time, and she was on the verge of rushing off to summon the watchman when … a low humming reached her ears from above. A familiar, husky/sore-throat voice.

  The little prick! After scaring the living daylights out of her with his irresponsible littering, he was up there having a good time! She stomped back to the corridor, scooped up the biscuit wrapper, and then marched up the stairs and on to the terrace.

  Charlie was perched on the parapet wall, smoking, with one leg swinging lazily as he gazed out into the night. She cleared her throat. He stopped crooning and turned around to look at her with those – grey/green/hazel – eyes. Surprise crossed his face.

  ‘Mrs Arora?’ he called out, as his lips dispelled a scattered cloud of smoke.

  ‘The very same,’ she replied haughtily, as she held up the paper wrapper. ‘Is this yours?’

  ‘Er…’

  ‘It’s not a very complicated question, Charlie.’

  ‘Depends on where you found it, I guess.’

  ‘It was right outside your door, fluttering and flying about, along with the rest of your trash.’

  ‘Crap, sorry about that,’ he said. ‘I’m buying a dust-bin first thing tomorrow.’

  ‘My issue is not with your garbage or lack of dust-bin, Charlie. My issue is this,’ she snapped, holding up the crumpled wrapper again. ‘Do you know what this means to me?’

  Charlie stared at the wrapper uncomprehendingly and then back at her. ‘Not really, no.’

  ‘And yet, you had the audacity to gift me a packet of cream biscuits after our very first meeting? Who do you think you are?’

  ‘I … just had a spare packet with me. So I thought you could give it to your kids or something.’

  ‘Oh, you thought, did you? So here’s something else to think about, Charlie. You don’t know me, a
ll right? None of you do, so stop trying. Now I don’t care what you are, or what you do in your own space, whatever it is that you do, but I expect to be treated the same way and allowed my space.’

  ‘I don’t—’

  ‘You don’t gift cream biscuits to strangers without knowing their back stories!’ she yelled. ‘Understand?’

  Charlie stared at her. ‘Yes, Mrs Arora.’

  ‘You better understand!’ she snapped her fingers at him, like she had once seen a heroine do in a film, neither of which she could remember now. And with that, she turned on her heel to swagger away triumphantly, when…

  ‘Mrs Arora.’

  ‘What?’ she snapped, turning to face him again.

  ‘Your sandal.’

  She glanced down to see her sandal lying a few feet away. Her right foot was bare. When had that happened?

  With as much poise and grace as she could muster, Anupama hobbled over to the wayward footwear, slid her foot into it, and shuffled to the door, all the while taking care not to look at him again. That hadn’t gone down so badly, she reflected. The moment was still hers, and she was proud of it, until—

  ‘Bye-bye, Mrs Arora,’ called Charlie from behind her.

  ‘Bye-bye, Charlie,’ she replied.

  Damn it! The sly bastard!

  She fled down the stairs, with the sound of his chuckle ringing in her ears.

  4

  Her eyelids slowly fluttered open to a blinding flash of white light. The curtains fluttered, and she caught a glimpse of the sun radiating broken beams of sunshine through the gap in the shades. She rose to draw the curtains, when suddenly the walls came to life and began swimming around her in a synchronized choreography. Bad idea. She crashed back into her pillow and groaned, clutching her head. Her mouth was dry, as was her throat, and her head was throbbing faster than her heart. Talk about a bad hangover. Damn Renu. And damn that sun. Why was it looking so unnaturally bright today?

  And then it struck her. The sun was unnaturally bright. Her eyes flew wide open. With a rising sense of fear and urgency, she raised her alarm clock to eye level – 9.11 a.m.

  Doom.

  Nimit was supposed to leave for school at 7.30.

  Way to go, Anupama. Way. To. Go.

  Overnight she had transformed into a textbook cliché of a child psychology course – the drunken, neglectful mother who couldn’t be bothered about whether her kids ate or bathed or went to school. Oh God, had they even woken up?

  Forgetting all about her screwed-up depth perception and wobbly eye-limb coordination and splitting headache, Anupama stumbled out of her bedroom and into the corridor. Nimit’s bedroom door was open. She peeked in. The bed was made and the room was empty. His bag was gone, as were his school shoes. A gigantic wave of relief and surprise washed over her. She heard a clinking sound in the kitchen.

  And lo and behold, there was Misha slicing a peanut butter and tomato sandwich into two halves. The milk-stained glass and empty ready-to-eat noodles packet were a testament to her previous efforts in getting her younger brother ready for school.

  Watching from the doorway, Anupama felt her heart swell with pride. There is that one golden, unforgettable moment in every mother’s life when she gets the confidence that her children will survive the big, bad world. The confidence may not last, but the memory does. She had heard, many times, of others having had that epiphany, and today she had finally experienced her own. Perhaps, she hadn’t done such a bad job after all.

  Not wanting to disturb the moment, she gazed on at her daughter in silent admiration as she carefully laid out the sandwiches on her plate. A moment later, Misha turned, saw her, and gasped.

  ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘I know. Sorry I overslept.’

  ‘No, I mean what happened to your face? Almost gave me a heart attack.’

  And just like that, the moment which was climaxing towards a new high point in the mother-daughter relationship tanked abruptly. Why couldn’t life be as predictable as fiction sometimes?

  ‘I came in late last night,’ said Anupama, feeling her old crankiness return. The headache was making its presence felt again.

  Misha passed her a glass of orange juice. ‘For the hangover.’

  ‘I don’t have—’

  ‘Mamma, I’m not four.’

  Anupama accepted the glass with bad grace and followed Misha to the dining table. As they were both about to sit down, Anupama espied a tiny reddish tinge on her daughter’s neck, half hidden by her muffler. It was then that Anupama also realized that this was the first time in years that Misha had chosen to wear that muffler, even though it wasn’t really cold outside. Foreboding crawled up her spine with cold, clammy fingers.

  ‘What’s that on your neck?’

  ‘Hmm? Oh, it’s just an allergy …’ she mumbled, flicking her hair forward. She checked the time on her mobile, grabbed her sandwich and got up to leave.

  ‘To what?’ said Anupama, rising from her chair as well.

  ‘How should I know?’ said Misha, sidling towards the door.

  ‘Let me see it,’ said Anupama.

  And with that, mother and daughter moved into the subtle predatory circling mode, with both sides trying to keep their movements casual and non-alarming as they approached the main door.

  ‘Seriously, Mamma! Why do you have to make an issue of everything?’

  ‘I just want to make sure it’s not serious.’

  ‘It’s not.’

  With three large and rapid strides, Misha reached the door and had just turned the knob when Anupama closed in on her, stretched her arm out like a midfielder reaching for a long catch, and displaced the muffler to reveal what was unmistakably a rather aggressive love bite, its vulgar redness out there for all to see.

  Her breath caught in her throat. Her worst nightmare had come true. Her little girl had been defiled. She grabbed Misha’s shoulders.

  ‘Who did this to you?’ She almost choked. ‘Who?’

  ‘God, Mamma, control yourself,’ shrieked Misha, struggling to break free.

  She wrenched open the door as soon as she was out of her mother’s grasp.

  ‘Don’t you dare walk out—’ hollered Anupama, but the door had already slammed shut. She had an overwhelming urge to run out into the hallway and drag her daughter kicking and screaming back into the house. But then, the thought of her neighbours overhearing – or worse, witnessing – their scuffle swiftly dampened her fires. The last thing she wanted was for this scandal to go public. Instead, she found herself praying that Misha would have the good sense to readjust her muffler now before anyone else noticed.

  Slowly and shakily, she made her way back to the table and sat down. At this rate, she would soon become one of those mothers who got pillow-murdered in their sleep following a minor argument with their children. A statistic demonstrating the rising intolerance amongst the youth of today. An episode of Crime Patrol. Suddenly, that old-age insurance policy didn’t seem like such a bad idea. She made a mental note to Google a list of all the decent retirement homes nearby as well, just in case the need arose sooner than anticipated.

  Shut it away, she chanted to herself. Shut it away, and then open it later…

  She took another sip of the over-sweetened orange juice and leaned back in her chair, moving her head from side to side to ease the strain in her neck. As she did so her eyes fell on the framed photograph of an upside-down Rajeev smiling back at her from the living room wall. Good ol’ Rajeev, free of all guilt, hangovers, erratic behaviours and parental worries.

  Perhaps it was just her imagination, but his smile seemed to grow broader with each passing day.

  She straightened her head, gulped down her juice and cautiously got to her feet. The walls stayed where they were. That was a good start.

  On her way through the corridor, she glimpsed a disturbing reflection in the wall mirror, making her pause and glance back. The woman staring back at her through the glass was barely recognizable. Her e
yeliner was smudged all around her eyes, her foundation had developed blots and runny lines, and her hair resembled a crow’s nest post a bitter domestic squabble. It was a wonder her daughter hadn’t pepper-sprayed her at first sight. It was an act of divine kindness that her son had missed seeing her this morning.

  She ran into her bathroom, not wanting to confront any more remnants of last night. Unfortunately, fate had other plans, for the first thing she saw upon entering the loo was the discarded wrapper of cream biscuits lying beside her toilet bowl. Charlie’s discarded cream biscuits wrapper.

  The concluding events of the previous night flashed through her memory with the force of a freak hurricane, washing away every ounce of hope she could have ever had for preserving her dignity. She tried to convince herself that it was a dream, a bad dream in which she had had no control over her actions, but the desperation of her attempts only served to dampen her spirits further.

  Had she really given him a moral lecture on cream biscuits? How could she ever face him again? Why hadn’t she just slipped and fallen down the stairs in the end? At least, she could have claimed amnesia from a blow to the head or something. Or did that excuse work only in the movies?

  Moving like a zombie, she splashed her face with water at the wash basin – over and over again, and then again. When she looked up at the mirror, she didn’t see a face anymore; just a clumsy black-and-white graffiti of shame and resignation.

  Misha’s question echoed through her mind: ‘What happened to you?’

  Seriously, what?

  Mercifully, the ride down the elevator was uneventful, with no intrusions. However, almost as if to counteract the benefit of this small blessing, Anupama stepped out of the building gates just in time to get a call from Renu saying that she was stuck at Juhu circle and would take at least forty minutes to arrive here. But since the venue was midway between them, could she please take an auto-rickshaw immediately to the place? This was a new client they were meeting today, and she didn’t want to bungle the first impression by being late.