Charlie Next Door

by Debashish Irengbam

  ‘Saw that?’ asked Charlie, after Mrs Chatterjee left.

  Anupama nodded, smiling.

  ‘That’s what I do it for.’

  ‘…A lot of people think that a hairstylist is just a fancy name for a barber, you know, snip, snip, snip and you’re done. But it’s not like that. You’re not just cutting hair when you’re in there. You’re creating art. You’re changing someone’s image, and possibly someone’s life. That’s a huge responsibility.’

  He paused as the waiter placed a bowl of steaming chilli paneer between them. Charlie served her and then himself. Anupama took a bite of the paneer. Too spicy, as was to be expected in a restaurant whose menu covers featured a two-headed, fire-breathing dragon, exclaiming ‘Ooo! It’s Chilli!’ She just hoped they hadn’t used any ajinomoto – the sole reason for her avoiding Chinese restaurants – however, Charlie had been profuse in his praise of the place, and she had tagged along without putting up too much of a fight.

  ‘It’s like you have to be a painter, a sculptor and a therapist all in one.’

  ‘Therapist?’ she asked, taking in a small mouthful of the oily chopsuey.

  ‘Oh, yeah. You won’t believe the kind of stuff I get to hear in there. I swear, every session is like a crash course in women’s psychology.’

  ‘That must be tough.’

  ‘Well, to be honest, I enjoy it. I tried being a stylist for men too, but it’s not the same. You see, most guys already have a preconceived image of what they want to look like, and they don’t want any kind of shift from it. But women – they come with their own mysteries. They come to discover, to change, to be surprised. And for that, you first need to break the barriers surrounding them and know them, the real them. That’s when you’re able to show them the side of themselves that they weren’t even aware existed. And boy, do they love it!’

  Anupama smiled, rolling her eyes inwardly. Yet another sample of the deluded male perspective that believed that the only way to deal with the female psyche was by either mystifying it to a metaphysical level or dismissing it altogether. Goddess or simpleton – those seemed to be the only two options available most of the time, with women like Anupama opting for the latter, for they found it superlatively better to be underestimated and ignored than to be deconstructed and micro-analysed like some unclassifiable fossil from a forgotten era.

  ‘So how exactly do you break these barriers?’ she asked, just to humour him.

  Charlie flashed a Mona Lisa smile. ‘A magician never reveals his tricks.’

  Neither does a fraudster, she thought, glancing out of the large windows. Mercifully, there were no signs of another downpour yet.

  ‘Although, I have to admit,’ said Charlie, ‘you’re turning out to be quite a mystery.’

  She looked back at him in surprise.

  ‘Me?’

  He nodded. ‘Usually, it just takes me one conversation to figure a woman out. Two, at the most, if they are the shy and reserved types. But with you – I don’t know – it’s like every time I meet you, I see something new, and that’s what intrigues me. It’s like I can’t seem to put my finger on you, you know.’

  Anupama tried hard to conceal her amusement. One moment he is describing to her how every woman is a delicious mystery, and the next, he actually begins treating her like one. Subtlety wasn’t a strong point with the poor boy. Still, she decided to play along, just for his efforts.

  ‘That’s a surprise. I have always considered myself an open book.’

  Charlie snorted. ‘Oh, trust me, you’re not. In fact, if you ask me, you’ve set the walls around you pretty high.’

  ‘Have I now?’ she remarked, feeling peeved at the confidence with which he had announced his psychoanalytical verdict.

  ‘Not that it’s your fault,’ he clarified. ‘It’s just that I’m pretty good at reading vibes, and I always get this sense from you that you don’t want anyone to get too close. I mean, you’re the kind of woman everyone seems to know – because that’s what she wants them to believe – but no one really does.’

  ‘So, you’re saying I am cold?’

  ‘No, no, I’m not talking about you. I’m talking about your vibes.’

  ‘What does that even mean?’ asked Anupama irritably.

  Charlie fidgeted in his seat. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  ‘I am not upset!’

  ‘You look upset.’

  ‘Are you sure? Or is it just my vibes?’

  ‘Maybe we should change the topic. Have you seen Mary Kom?’

  ‘No, no, you don’t drop a bomb like that and change the topic. What makes you think I am closed up about myself?’

  ‘Well, for starters, it’s been about a week since we met, and I don’t even know your name.’

  It was then that Anupama realized it too. All this while, she had simply been Mrs Arora for him, as the name plate outside her flat suggested … as she had been for so many others before him. How many of them had even bothered to ask her yet? ‘Anupama.’

  ‘Anupama Arora. You’re Sindhi?’

  ‘No, my husband was.’

  ‘Oh, okay.’

  Her eyes scrutinized his face, waiting for a reaction. She didn’t know why, but it seemed important. He looked casual enough as he took another bite of his chopsuey. But then his eyes met hers with an enquiring glance, and she guessed what was coming next. The same question she would receive every time she mentioned her husband’s name to a new acquaintance. ‘If you don’t mind—’ began Charlie.

  ‘He’s no more.’

  ‘—could you pass the soy sauce, please?’

  A second of mutual awkwardness passed between them, before she broke her gaze away and handed him the sauce bottle.

  ‘I thought you were—’

  ‘It’s okay. So … happy?’ he asked.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she snapped angrily.

  One glance at the startled expression on his face though, and she became aware of her faux pas.

  ‘You were talking about the restaurant, weren’t you?’

  ‘The food, actually,’ he said in a small voice. ‘Are you happy with it?’

  She nodded and made a show of checking her watch, only to realize she wasn’t wearing it. Putting her bare wrist down on the table, she nervously flicked her hair back with her fingers, only to get a strand stuck in her ring, causing her to flinch in pain. All this while, Charlie just watched her quietly with a blank look on his face.

  ‘I think I should leave now,’ she said, stopping a man passing by. ‘Bill, please.’ The man stared back at her.

  ‘He’s not the waiter,’ said Charlie.

  Anupama gave up and held her head in her hands, breathing deeply.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

  ‘No, Charlie, I’m not okay. Every time I meet you, I end up being not okay and I am tired of it.’

  ‘That’s okay—’

  ‘No, it’s not okay! It’s not at all okay!’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ said Charlie, raising his hands.

  ‘I am not this person, all right?’ she said slowly. ‘I am not this neurotic freak and I don’t want you to think of me that way.’

  ‘I don’t,’ insisted Charlie. ‘In fact, I love the fact that you’re so … raw.’

  ‘Raw?’

  He nodded with a grin. ‘The thing is, every day I meet these women who come in hoping for a miracle, to feel different, to look different from what they are, and it just boggles me how desperately they want to change, you know. Not that I’ve any complaints, I mean my whole business depends on it. And then, there’s you – opening the door with that bit of dal on your fingers, getting drunk, screaming on the terrace, stalking on Facebook. It’s so … refreshing! I wasn’t lying when I said I had never met anyone like you.’

  Anupama scrutinized his face minutely to see if he was mocking her. However, the sincerity she saw in his admiration only served to offend her further. She knew she had been awkward and strange in front o
f him, but this perceived degree of her lunacy hadn’t quite struck her until now. And the fact that he considered it to be such a natural part of her personality merely added insult to injury. Perhaps she should have just thrown him to the dogs and let him fend for himself. She picked up her bag.

  ‘Thank you for the lunch, Charlie,’ she said tightly.

  ‘I thought you’d be flattered.’

  ‘Oh, but of course. My neighbour thinks I’m a hormonal hurricane of emotional disorders. What more could I desire?’

  ‘Anupama, you’re not listening to me. I like you. I really do.’

  She glanced at him in shock. ‘Did you just call me Anupama?’

  ‘That is your name, right? Or do you prefer Mrs Arora?’

  ‘No, I mean, isn’t that more respectful?’

  ‘You find it disrespectful to be called by your own name?’ he asked.

  ‘You know what I’m talking about. I am older than you so—’

  ‘So … what, I’m supposed to consider you an auntie now? Please. You’re way too happening.’

  In spite of her reservations, Anupama felt a tiny flutter of gladness at that, which she did an impressive job of hiding.

  ‘Just don’t call me that in front of others.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said, checking his watch. ‘I should get back to work now. What are you doing at five today?’

  ‘Nothing. Why?’

  He smirked mischievously. ‘I’ll be meeting up with Mrs Mehtani right about then. Do come over. It will be a good show, I promise.’

  ‘Charlie, please don’t try anything funny.’

  ‘Anupama, trust me.’

  Again, that irritating flutter. What was it about the combination of his voice and her name that made her feel so squeamish? She thanked him for the lunch again, bade him goodbye and rose. As she made her way to the door, she firmly set her eyes ahead, forbidding herself from giving in to her impulse to glance back while her mind wondered whether he was still looking at her. The thought made her incredibly self-conscious. She fervently prayed that she would not stumble and that she could just be a lady for the next twenty metres or so, until she got to the door.

  Don’t look back, don’t look back, don’t look back…

  Just as she reached the door though, she gave in to her curiosity for a mere fraction of a second – only to regret it immediately, as expected. Charlie was looking right at her, elbows on the table, lips spread in a wide grin, dimple and all. That expression on his face – it was like he was waiting for her to turn. As if he weren’t just expecting it, he was certain of it. Was she so predictable?

  He waved. She waved back at him with all the grace she could muster and pushed at the door, and then pulled it, and then pushed again, until a hovering waiter came over and helpfully slid it open. This time, she didn’t have to turn back to confirm the amused look that must have come over his face. Her cheeks heated up, and she was sure the blush was visible on the back of her neck as well. Small wonder he had never met a woman like her.

  The minutes ticked by with the weight of a premonition.

  It was almost five now. Nimit was in his room, ‘studying’. Misha was watching a re-run of one of her US sitcoms on TV. Anupama had given up trying to follow the dialogues a long time ago. Why did these Americans talk so fast? And why was everything about sex in the end? She had thought about objecting at first, but then the memory of Misha watching these same shows with Rajeev occurred to her. They had always had their own thing. And now that he was not in the picture, she felt a responsibility – or rather, a challenge – to fill that gap. Not that she thought it made any difference. She could have been a fly on the wall for all Misha cared. But it felt good to make the effort. And some of the episodes could be quite funny at times. It was just that today her mind was elsewhere.

  The clock struck five.

  Anupama tried her best to look casual now as the seconds whizzed by. Her legs had started fidgeting. She stopped them. It was absurd for her to feel so wound up. She wasn’t directly involved anyway. And Charlie had assured her he would take care of it. Everything was fine. Everything was going to be fine. It was just a minor—

  The doorbell rang.

  Her heart leapt. She told Misha she would get it and hurried to the door. She peered out through the peephole. Charlie and Mrs Mehtani were outside.

  There was no turning back now. She had brought this upon herself. She opened the door.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Arora,’ said Charlie brightly. Behind him, Mrs Mehtani had a stiff expression on her face.

  ‘Oh, hello, Charlie. What happened?’

  ‘Not much. We just wanted you to clear some confusion. Have you ever seen me on that terrace or anywhere near it?’

  ‘Huh? No. I said that in the meeting too.’

  ‘Right, because Mrs Mehtani here has a little problem in believing the truth.’

  ‘The truth?’

  ‘He is saying that my Jugnu broke the lock,’ cried Mrs Mehtani angrily.

  ‘I’m just pointing out the only possible explanation.’

  ‘He is four years old!’

  ‘And yet, he could hit the ball over seven storeys as per your own statement. So, I’m guessing the kid has some major upper body strength going on for him.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean he’ll break a lock. He knows it’s against society rules. No one can open the door to the terrace.’

  ‘So why did he even bother coming all the way up? Didn’t he know there would be a lock on the door?’

  Mrs Mehtani opened her mouth to retort, only to think better of it and pursed her lips. All this while, Anupama was just following their arguments with the avid interest of a bystander in a heated legal battle.

  ‘He—he is just a kid—’

  ‘Exactly. And you know how kids can be. But you know what? It’s okay, Mrs Mehtani. I’ll take care of it. I’ll even get a new lock for the door and no one has to know. What do you say, Mrs Arora?’

  It took Anupama a second to find her voice.

  ‘I think that’s a good solution, yes.’

  ‘N—no,’ mumbled Mrs Mehtani. ‘No, that’s not right.’

  ‘I know it’s not, but four is too young an age to get implicated and tried for such an offence. Imagine what Mrs Govindikar will say. I’m just considering your and Jugnu’s best interests,’ said Charlie with a straight face.

  Mrs Mehtani turned her hapless gaze to Anupama, who merely shrugged.

  ‘Fine,’ she huffed. ‘Fine, we’ll get a new lock.’

  Her cheeks had puffed up and reddened with the effort of restraining herself from bursting out. Without any further ado, she turned on her heel and marched down the stairs, not even waiting for the elevator in her fury. Charlie discreetly turned and left for his flat too, but not before passing her a triumphant wink and smile. Anupama felt her spirits rise. Relief flooded through her senses. She closed the door and turned back to see Misha staring at her from the couch.

  ‘Was that Charlie?’

  ‘Yes, and Mrs Mehtani.’

  ‘Something wrong?’

  ‘Not anymore.’

  ‘Why are you smiling?’

  ‘Just like that.’

  She strolled over to the kitchen and for the first time since he had moved in, she opened the windows wide, letting in the dewy fresh air. Opening the faucet, she washed some curry leaves and set them aside to dry. She was in the mood for some hot, steaming upma now. With adrak chai. And some fried, salted green chillies. Ah, bliss!

  After a moment’s thought, she took out her mobile and fished out Charlie’s number, texting him:

  Anupama: D’you like upma?

  A second later, she received a reply.

  Charlie: U kiddin’? I was almost in a relationship wt it once.

  Anupama: Come over then. I’m making it.

  Charlie: Super!!! But wat abt ur bestie Mrs Mehtani?

  Anupama: I dnt think she wl b coming up anytime soon thanks to u. Besides, I can always say u came to vi
sit Nimit.

  Charlie: Now, aren’t u an evil genius? :D M impressed, Anupama.

  Anupama: ☺ Cm in 20 mins. The weather’s too nice to be alone.

  Charlie: Ha ha , if I didn’t knw u better, dat wud hv almost sounded romantic :D :D

  Charlie: Anupama?

  Charlie: Arey, that was a joke! I swear! Didn’t u c the smileys??

  Charlie: Anupama? U there? Hello?

  Charlie: ???

  Charlie: So … upma/ no upma?

  Anupama: I will pack urs separately. Come in 20 mins to collect it.

  Charlie: Ok

  13

  The downpour a few days later transcended everyone’s expectations. The Central Line from Kurla to Bhayander was suspended. Traffic ground to a standstill in most of the suburbs, with the previously waterlogged streets now turning into a diverse patchwork of flowing streams and stagnant ponds. The Arabian Sea flowed with wild abandon over and beyond the Marine Drive boundary walls in vindictive waves, splattering over-enthusiastic selfie-clickers and their ill-fated phones. Five people were reported injured across the city. Cars submerged into flooded ditches, bicycles rode on bicyclists rather than the other way around, mewling kittens were rescued in vegetable baskets. And Anupama found herself stuck at home with her kids, wondering why her ceiling was dripping from some of the unlikeliest of corners.

  Her meeting with Renu had been cancelled owing to the impossibility of travel in this weather, and the southeast corner of her living room, which seemed to have taken these tidings badly, was weeping profusely in zigzag patterns of moist misery.