by George, MM
“I’ll tell you. But first tell me, do you also love him?”
“Love? I don’t know whether this is love, Di, but I feel happy when I’m with him. And I miss being with him on my off days. He makes me laugh.”
“Do you want to marry him?”
Reema contemplated the question for a minute. “It can’t be, Di. We live in different worlds. Ma-Ba… would be shocked.”
“You leave all that to me,” said Mira, who had noticed the tiny slip. It was still difficult to come to terms with their father’s sudden death. “Just tell me—do you love Tarun Dewan?” Reema nodded, her eyes glued to the floor. Mira sighed in vexation. Drat the man—he was always right.
A knock sounded on the door. It was Renu Mausi. “Oh Mira, you’re home early? Reema beta, I wanted you to run down to the kirana store and get me a few things.”
“I’ll go, Mausi,” said Mira quickly. She grabbed her bag and let herself out of the flat. As she exited the building, she took out her mobile and dialed a number.
“Yes?” Ranbir’s voice resounded authoritatively.
“It’s me,” stammered Mira. Did he have to sound so impatient?
“I could see that from my phone, Mira. Well?”
“It’s true,” she said in a rush. “What you said…about…umm, you know.”
“So Reema has told you that I was right about their affair.”
“It isn’t an affair,” said Mira, embarrassment dispelled by a cloud of indignation. “He meets her at the store and brings her home. It’s nothing as sordid as an affair. But, yes, they are in love.”
“Tell her to come to Dewan Kutir tomorrow morning.” Ranbir hung up.
Mira looked at her own mobile instrument resentfully. The man was too much—so peremptory, so used to people jumping at a snap of his finger. How was Reema to get to Dewan Kutir? Whom was she to ask for there? What was she going to say who had sent her? There was no way around it. She would have to go with her.
***
Mira and Reema stood outside the front door of Dewan Kutir, looking at each other. They’d had a bit of a time getting past the guard at the gate. Typically, thought Mira, Ranbir hadn’t thought to tell him they were expected.
“Don’t worry,” she said now, looking at her sister’s tense face. “You just have to show yourself to be willing to run around and help Mrs. Dewan with whatever she needs done.”
“I don’t think I can face…” whispered Reema.
“Don’t be a goose!” said Mira impatiently. Then her voice softened, “Remember, this is Ranbir’s idea. He’s on your side. All you have to do is get through this initial interview with his Dadi. And, after all, she’s Tarun’s Dadi, too. Just think of this as a practice run for when you actually marry Tarun. Now, shall I ring the bell?”
A dignified looking woman opened the door. “Yes?” she enquired, looking at them.
“We were told you needed someone to help Mrs. Dewan,” said Mira quickly.
“Who sent you?” asked the woman sternly. Just then, Ranbir came up behind her. “Ah, there you are—both of you? It’s all right, Mrs. Bagchi, I called them here. Will you take them up—no, I’ll take them to Dadi myself. I need to make sure the girl is okay.”
Ranbir led them up the stairs. Making sure they were out of earshot of the housekeeper, he gave Mira a meaningful look, “Why are you here?”
“Well, you didn’t say anything about whom she was to ask for here and what she was to say. Just look at her, she’s so nervous. I had to come!”
“Well, don’t do anything silly in front of Dadi,” he said leading the way down a wide corridor. Four doors down, he stopped and knocked.
“Who is it? Aa jao,” said a woman’s voice from inside. Ranbir walked in, holding the door open for the girls to enter.
“Dadi, pranam,” he said, bending down to touch the elderly lady’s feet.
“Jug jug jiyo, beta,” said Saudamini Dewan, caressing his head with her hand in aashirwad.
Mira’s eyes widened. Was this for real? Ranbir Dewan, the ultra-sophisticate, whose name filled the gossip pages, greeting his grandmother in the traditional Indian way? She choked back a hysterical giggle. Why did she suddenly feel she was taking part in a ridiculous farce? But the old lady sitting in the wheelchair near the window, studying her gravely, looked anything but unreal.
“Which of these is the girl you were talking about, beta?” she asked Ranbir.
Ranbir gestured to Reema to come forward. “Dadi, this is Reema, who will help you from now on. If you like her, that is,” he said gravely.
Reema stood before the wheelchair, her head hanging down shyly.
“Your name is Reema?” asked Mrs. Dewan. “Yes, ma’am,” she replied in a whisper.
“Well, if you are going to be about me, you’ll have to talk a lot louder than that. I am a little deaf in my left ear. Can you read English?”
“She’s a history graduate,” said Mira loudly.
“And who are you?” asked Mrs. Dewan imperiously.
“Dadi, this is Mira, Reema’s sister. She works in our office cafeteria. That’s how I got to hear of Reema,” interjected Ranbir smoothly before Mira could reply.
“And why does this history graduate want to be my assistant?” asked the old lady. She broke in, just as Mira opened her mouth to reply, and waved an admonishing finger at her, “Not you, young lady, I want to hear Reema speak. I assume she has a tongue?”
Mira flushed and kept quiet. “Ma’am,” faltered Reema. “We’ve just moved to Delhi and Ma is still ill. We need the money, so the first job…”
“What happened to your mother?”
“She was injured when…when…Baba was killed and now we are staying with Renu Mausi.” Slowly, Reema’s confidence was growing. “I was working in a store, but it’s not very nice. So many strangers, Ma and Mausi were unhappy.”
“And so they should be,” said Mrs. Dewan. “Do you know the ten names of Arjuna?”
A look of surprise crossed Reema’s face. “Parth, Jishnu, Keeriti, Savyasachi…” she began.
“Bas, bas,” said Mrs. Dewan. “It’s good to know that unlike the rest of your generation, you have some knowledge of your culture and traditions. I assume your mother has also taught you our religious rituals and how to prepare for a puja.” Reema nodded.
“I think she’ll suit, Ranbir,” she said and turned again to Reema, “Come tomorrow. Bring your things with you. I will have your room prepared.”
Reema’s eyes flew open.
“She will have to stay here?” Mira was taken aback. “I don’t think Ma…”
“Well, what did you think?” Ranbir intervened. “Dadi leads an active social life with all the charities she chairs and organizes. Reema will need to accompany her to most of them. This is not a ten-hour shift, after which you get to go home.”
“You can go home every second Monday and come back on Tuesday evening. I’m making this concession because your family lives here,” said Mrs. Dewan.
“Mr. Dewan, I honestly don’t think Ma will agree to Reema staying away from home,” said Mira. “I can talk to her, but really…”
“Why don’t you stay here, too, with her?” Ranbir cut in smoothly. Mira looked up at him sharply. Now what did he have in mind? “You will find it easier to get to office from here and, when you are here, you can keep an eye on your little sister. With the two of you here together, your mother will not be worried. It works out on all fronts.”
“I will have to ask her,” said Mira firmly. “Ma is not well and frets all day while we are away at work. And she still needs a lot of nursing. Mausi cannot cope on her own.”
She looked at Mrs. Dewan, “I’m sorry, ma’am, I didn’t realize the situation. But we have to ask our mother before we can say yes.”
“Do you always talk for your sister?” asked Mrs. Dewan in amused tones. “Very well, run along then and talk to your mother, but let me know by evening what you decide.”
The sisters left the
room and made their way out of the huge grounds. Reema had just turned to her to say something, when a voice drawled behind them, “That was not very smart, was it?”
Mira swung around in fury to face Ranbir. “You should have warned me that she would be expected to live in,” she hissed.
“I thought you would realize it was inevitable,” he said.
“It never occurred to me,” she spat. “There were so many things in my head yesterday. Your revelations were enough, and then Reema! But I don’t think my moving in here with her is the answer. Ma needs at least one of us at hand with her.”
“Think about it,” he said. “You have till evening.”
***
It was early evening. As Mira walked towards Renu Mausi’s flat, she was lost in thought. How was she going to get Ma to agree to Ranbir’s bizarre plan? She could not remember when Reema or she had ever spent a night away from their parents, and now, at this time, to shift out of home altogether? She almost walked past the gleaming white Porsche convertible before she saw it. She doubled back to give it a puzzled look—where had she seen that car before?
There were visitors at home. She could see the grill door open and hear voices inside. She sighed, why today? The long figure lounging in Renu Mausi’s three-seater sofa beside Dhiru Mausa caught her eye immediately. Ranbir! Ma sat on the divan opposite, smiling gently at Ranbir, while Reema stood behind her.
“You?” she asked, quickening her stride. “Why are you here?”
“Beta, you didn’t tell us Reema and you were going to meet Ranbirji’s Dadi today? In fact, you didn’t even tell us you knew Ranbirji,” admonished Mausi gently, as she came into the room in time to catch Mira’s words. She was carrying a tray with biscuits and cups of tea on it. Mira scowled at the sardonic look Ranbir shot her.
Dhiru Mausa took over. “Ranbirji tells us that his Dadi wants Reema as her companion. That is very good because we’re not very happy with her working in that store, as you know. Looking after a lady as well respected as Mrs. Dewan is a much better job, but we are not very happy about our bitiya living all by herself in a strange house. It is not done in families like ours. Daughters leave home only when they get married—with their husbands.”
Mira shot a meaningful look at Ranbir, who gazed into his teacup, seemingly unaware of her look.
“But then again, Ranbirji tells us our families used to know each other in Baghpat.”
Mira’s eyes flew open in surprise. Ma explained, “My mother’s father was a good friend of Mrs. Dewan’s father. I did not think of it till Ranbirji told us, but I do remember visiting Nanu-Nani and playing with Bittoo and Varsha, haina Renu Di? That would be your Dadi’s brother’s children, wouldn’t it, Ranbir beta?”
“Yes, ma’am, it would indeed. They are both in the US now. Dadi’s brother passed away a few years ago.”
“In the event, we can hardly refuse to help Mrs. Dewan,” said Dhiru Mausa. “And Ranbirji has come up with a solution to the problem of Reema being all alone. He says you should also move there with her. We have been worried about how long it takes you to travel to Gurgaon every day. Well, it seems that problem, too, can be solved if you go with Reema.”
“No, Ma, this is impossible! Who will look after you? And all those visits to the doctor and the hospital? You and Mausi will tire yourselves out. We can’t both leave you and go away.”
“No matter, beta,” said Ma quietly. “We will manage. I am much better now. I don’t need as much looking after as before. And maybe this is what I need…to get up and stop being such a burden on all of you.”
“You have never been a burden, Ma!” exclaimed Reema, while Mira bit her lip, looking unconvinced. Ranbir seemed to have covered every loophole very thoroughly, but there was a catch somewhere in this. She just had to figure it out. Why else would the Ranbir Dewan of the Dewan Group of Industries take time out from his busy schedule to compel Reema and her to stay at Dewan Kutir? It couldn’t be just brotherly love. Even though he’d agreed to help Tarun and Reema, he’d already voiced his doubts about the relationship. She had no choice at the moment but to agree, now that Ma was looking at Ranbir as if he were her personal savior.
“Well, if you’re sure, Ma?” she said at last, unwillingly.
“Good,” said Ranbir, unfurling his length from the sofa. “So you’ll call Dadi and tell her you’re accepting her offer, Reema? And now, Mrs. Talwar, I must go. I have an appointment in half an hour.”
≈
FIVE
Mira and Reema moved into Dewan Kutir over the weekend. Ranbir sent a car to fetch them. As she waved goodbye to her mother and her aunt and uncle, Mira felt a sense of unease grip her. They looked so well-intentioned and trusting. And she would wager her new turquoise muqaish-embellished dupatta that well-intentioned and trustworthy were two adjectives that could not be applied to Ranbir Dewan. Not in this situation at least.
The room they were shown into was on the top floor. It was large and spacious with an attached bathroom and a desk in the corner near the window. The window looked out onto a small balcony from where a short flight of stairs led to a larger terrace. There was even a bookcase filled with books. The wardrobe was so large that all their clothes together occupied a mere half of it. They had reached the house in the early evening, so they had a couple of hours to unpack and put their things away.
Mira was just putting a framed photograph of Ma and Baba on the desk, when a knock sounded on the door. A young girl looked in. “You are to come down for dinner. Mrs. Dewan’s orders.”
Reema gripped Mira’s hands tightly. “Go downstairs for dinner, Di? Eat with all of them? How can we?”
“Relax, Chhoti, you had to meet the Dewans some time. Why not now?” Mira wished she felt half as confident as she made herself sound. I can do this, she told herself. I can do this for Reema.
The family was already at the table when they went downstairs. Tarun smiled broadly at them. Mrs. Dewan inclined her head graciously at Reema and said, “I hope the room is comfortable? You have everything you need?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Mira.
Ranbir looked up from his plate with a frown.
Mrs. Dewan proceeded to introduce the rest of the family. “I thought you should eat with us instead of by yourselves in your room,” she continued. “Of course, from tomorrow, you will be with me wherever I am, Reema. But this floor is the common family floor and both of you are welcome to use it as you wish.”
Mira and Reema sat down on two vacant chairs and the hovering maids moved to serve them.
“I believe you cook at the office cafeteria, Mira,” said Ajay Chacha in a kindly tone.
“Yes, sir,” said Mira. “I work with Dhruv Gupta.”
“Ah, we know Dhruv!” said Chacha. “A good boy, that one, head firmly on his shoulders.”
“She’s a believer in the great Indian food tradition,” drawled Ranbir sardonically. “Just the other day, I heard her extolling the virtues of aloo parathas oozing with butter.”
“Ah, aloo parathas!” sighed Chacha.
“Your favorite breakfast, beta,” smiled Mrs. Dewan.
“Yes, Ma, I remember the wonderful parathas you used to make for us. Their aroma would fill the house and make our mouths water. Now, thanks to Dr. Singh, all I get in the morning are sprouts and juice and, if I am lucky, whole wheat toast without any butter.”
“Ajay, you know you have to keep your cholesterol levels down,” remonstrated Chachi. “Ranbir has told you so often to keep oily food to a minimum, at least till your reports come in normal.”
“Don’t worry, sir, I can make you a breakfast that is both delicious and healthy,” said Mira confidently. “I know Mr. Dewan has some strange ideas about firangi food, but Indian food, made properly, can be just as nutritious and much tastier.”
“Arre beta, call me Chacha,” said the elder Mr. Dewan. “Chalo, at least I have someone on my side now. What will you make?”
“How about parathas?” she smile
d.
“No way,” cut in Ranbir. “Chacha is on a strict diet and is not allowed fried food, especially potatoes.”
“But I wouldn’t fry them,” said Mira, smiling sweetly at him. “You can cook parathas in the tandoor. You can use a mixed flour with bran in it. And, why potatoes? You can stuff parathas with so many other things—paneer, carrots, peas, broccoli, even soya.”
“Have you had any professional training?” asked Chachi, a trifle disdainfully. It was plain to see that she was not too happy with the idea of her husband treating the ‘staff’ with such familiarity.
“Yes, ma’am. But also, my mother has been very unwell and she has become very fussy these days. I had a long talk with the nutritionist at the hospital and she gave me lots of ideas. So we have been trying out new recipes to tempt her into eating.”
“Di’s cooking was famous in Meerut,” Reema put in softly.
“Achha? Then we must get you to cook for us also,” said Chachi. “Maji, the next time Maharaj goes on leave, we can ask Mira to cook for us, no?”
There I am, put firmly in my place, thought Mira wryly.
A voice cut in. “Chachi, what’s the point of getting Mira to cook for us?” asked Ranbir. “We eat simple food at home, not the kind of catering fare she is used to making. It might be better to ask Reema to cook for us when Maharaj goes to visit his family. She will make us the kind of food we are used to, won’t you, Reema?”
Reema nodded shyly. “I am not as good a cook as Di, but I can try,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Mira looked down at her plate, concentrating on the chapati and the gobhi ki sabzi that reposed on it, digging her nails into her palms to keep herself from making a sharp retort. So Ranbir was pushing Reema forward in his family’s eyes, but he didn’t have to put her down to do that. What did he mean catering fare?
As they got up from the table, Ranbir called out to his cousin. “Tarun, why don’t you show the girls the rest of this floor so that they know where everything is? Dadi, if that is okay with you, of course?” Dadi nodded her assent and Tarun lost no time in going over to Reema’s side.
