THE HOUSE THAT BJ BUILT, page 6
Chandralekha clicks her tongue disapprovingly. ‘Very wrong. This girl must be removed from the house immediately. It is both cruel and irresponsible to allow her to be tempted with free access to all our portions.’
‘Ya, well, it’s just my portion at the moment, so I’ll do the yelling, if any is required.’ Anjini’s sweet voice is steely. ‘Bonu, BJ’s already filled me in on the details. You’ll have to pay me one year’s rent with retrospective effect. Market rates. Also, please get your stuff out of there immediately.’
‘Um, I’ve only been in there five-and-a-half months actually…’ Bonu starts to say.
‘Pay what she says!’ BJ snaps. ‘And you’re getting off cheap!’
Well, it was worth a try, Bonu tells herself philosophically. I’ve been in there for sixteen months actually, but like he said, pay what she says.
‘Okay,’ she says, very docile. Then adds, clearly as an afterthought, ‘Sorry.’
A little silence falls again, broken by the Judge repeating, more mildly this time, ‘I will not leave behind a mess!’
‘But BJ,’ Dabbu sounds rather bewildered. ‘The house has already been partitioned into five pieces. It’s all clearly written down and legally approved. So why would you be leaving behind a mess?’
The Judge’s eyes swivel to her. D for Dreamer, this one, he thinks with resigned fondness. Some people might even say D for Dumb, especially when it comes to worldly matters. Good thing she’s married to that savvy fellow, Shekhawat’s son.
‘BJ?’ Dabbu repeats. ‘Why would you be leaving behind a mess?’
The Judge blinks. ‘Because of that…’ His eyes glaze over as he hunts for the right word. ‘Case,’ he says finally.
‘What case?’ Anjini asks.
The old man blinks again.
‘I’ve been talking to this big builder,’ he says, switching subjects and becoming eloquent again. ‘Very big builder! He came over to see me. Made a good offer…a damn good offer.’
Bonu stares at him, surprised. ‘When? Who?’
BJ chuckles. ‘Think you know everything, don’t you? Well, he came. And he said that if we all sell together, we can get a good price. I want you all to take the offer, sell the house and divvy up the money while I’m still around to make sure you all don’t…’
He pauses. ‘Silt,’ he says experimentally, then shakes his head. ‘Still.’ He shakes his head again, growing frustrated. ‘List…’
‘Slit?’ Samar’s voice is dry.
The Judge looks at him gratefully and nods. ‘Slit each other’s throats.’
Everybody soaks this in soberly.
‘But he’s a believer in…’ The old man waves his hands about in the air disgustedly, ‘in…religious mumbo-jumbo and he wants to start construction on Akshaya Tritiya.’
‘What’s Akshaya Thimgumia?’ Bonu asks.
‘The most auspicious day of the year to buy something or start a new venture,’ Anji supplies. ‘Allahabad Buzz gets lots of ads on Akshaya Tritiya.’
‘Silly superstition,’ Chandu murmurs. ‘Oh well, one must be tolerant.’
‘When is it?’ asks Eshwari.
‘April–May-ish,’ the Judge says irritably. ‘Is that all you have to say?’
‘Money is mael,’ says Chandu. ‘Dirt. Anybody who comes in contact with dirt gets dirty. I will immediately donate my hissa to the needy.’
‘I’m needy,’ Eshwari grins. ‘BJ, just how much money are we talking about here?’
‘Two hundred—crores.’
Silence again. Longer this time.
Two hundred crores, Bonu thinks faintly. That’s like, insane. Surreal. I knew the house was worth a lot but I never thought it would be as much as that! What-what I could do with my slice of two hundred crores!
‘Uh, and he just came home and had a chat with you, this builder?’ Debjani asks gently. ‘Did he bring any lawyers with him?’
The Judge shakes his head. ‘He came alone. Brought me chocolates.’
Bonu looks scandalized. ‘You’ve been eating chocolates!’
Anjini clicks her tongue in disapproval. ‘How can you not know about all this, Bonu? People are just walking in and talking to him! Supposing they poisoned him? Or made him sign something? You didn’t sign anything, did you, BJ?’
Talk about ungrateful, Bonu thinks, stung to the core. I stay here looking after their father for them, and this is the thanks I get. Accusations that he got poisoned on my watch. Ma was right, they’re all cows.
‘Didn’t know about the case,’ the Judge chuckles.
‘What case?’ everyone wants to know but BJ responds with another silence. He seems to have gone to sleep again. The family look at one another.
‘So what could this builder’s plans for the house be?’ Dabbu asks.
‘To build an apartment block, I suppose,’ says Anjini. ‘Like Hailey Court.’
‘Only fancier,’ nods the Judge, coming to life again. ‘Schindler’s lifts. Central ACs.’
There is a long pause.
‘Well, I can’t pretend that this wouldn’t be a total godsend,’ Dabbu says finally. ‘The network could actually get by without corporate funding, which always tries to mess around with editorial. We could stay unbiased and independent, this way.’
‘It would help Samar too,’ chimes in his fond stepmother. ‘He wants to set up his own production house and make the films he really wants to.’
‘Ma.’ Samar looks hassled. ‘I don’t need BJ’s money—I’m fine.’
‘I’ve read what’s going on in Bombay,’ his stepmother says fiercely. ‘They’re trying to control your creative process. Well, they won’t be able to now.’
Everybody else, very delicately, makes no mention of the splash Samar has recently made in the news.
‘Um, yes, well, it’ll come at a great time for me too,’ Eshwari changes the subject. ‘And what about you, Bonu-the-brat? Will so much money be good news for you?’
Eshu’s voice is affectionate, she’s trying to make up, Bonu can tell, but Bonu isn’t ready to make up yet.
‘What of the tenants?’ she asks instead. ‘You know, the Tring Trings?’
‘They’re still around?’ Debjani is surprised. ‘I thought you threw them out, BJ.’
‘No, they live in the annexe,’ Bonu replies. ‘They’re very nice people.’ Her tone is challenging, daring anyone to contradict her.
‘Well clearly, as they pick locks at your command, they must love you, Bonu Singh,’ Samar says sarcastically, ‘but the rest of us may not be as fond of them.’
‘They eat the pigeons.’ Debjani’s voice has a slight tremble. ‘I know they do. They make a sort of biryani stew… I’ve seen Namgay Tring walking around under the verandah pillars laying traps for them. I think they ate up Moti’s puppies, and grand puppies too.’
Debjani’s love for animals has intensified over the years. She is an official RSPCA ambassador and quite manic on the subject of vegetarianism.
‘Yes, well, pigeons are a pest, you know, Dabbu…’ Eshwari ventures hesitantly. ‘And Namgay Tringji is really sweet. He rigged up this hoop for me in the garage so I could practise dunk shots.’
‘They’re horrible people!’ Dabbu says hotly. ‘We have to get them out of the house!’
‘They live in my portion,’ Chandu says placidly. ‘And I need the rent. I’m sure they’ll vacate amicably enough when the time comes.’
‘I thought you were all animal lovers in RIGID,’ Debjani flashes. ‘Not when it means money, clearly!’
Chandu’s face twists, and she sits back abruptly. Debjani looks shame-faced.
‘So our childhood home will become a block of fancy flats,’ Anjini sighs. ‘Oh well, you stay in Mumbai, Samar, you’re used to living in buildings.’
But I’m not, the Judge thinks gloomily. Still, Mamtaji always said it was better to demolish the house and keep the family together than demolish the family and keep the house together. And she was right. His intense rush of energy is ebbing, but he feels at peace now, rather like he’s snatched his family from the jaws of some terrible fate. These disputes always start with something small, like Bonu’s encroaching, and before you even know it, you’re bang in the middle of a full-scale war, sides chosen, battle lines drawn, everybody pillaging and murdering and looting madly, and glibly quoting verses from the Bhagwad Gita to justify the fratricide.
But my girls are grounded, he comforts himself. Mamtaji has done a good, solid job. They love each other and they have an innate sense of justice and fair play. There’s something niggling at the back of his mind, though, what is it?
‘That damn-fool case,’ he mutters.
‘What damn-fool case?’ Anjini prods. ‘That’s the third time you’ve mentioned it.’
The Judge looks foggy.
‘The 1993 document—I have to do something about that 1993 document!’
Everybody looks at a loss.
BJ sits forward, suddenly animated, his eyes bulging as he glares at Anjini.
‘You know what I’m talking about?’
Anjini leans in. ‘Bauji, you’re shifting subjects. You were talking about a damn-fool case, and then some document.’
Debjani pipes up, ‘Oh, the 1993 document. I know what you mean, Bauji. Don’t worry about it.’
‘It’s been destroyed?’
Anjini nods. ‘Yes.’
‘All the copies?’ the Judge presses.
‘Yes, yes,’ Anjini says. ‘Girls, tell him we destroyed all copies of the 1993 document.’
‘Ya,’ says Debjani.
‘Yo,’ says Eshwari.
‘Of course,’ smiles Chandu.
And the old man sits back in his chair, relieved.
‘So who’s this builder?’ Eshwari asks. ‘What has he built before?’
The Judge’s eyes narrow. He surveys her with dissatisfaction, his forehead furrowed.
‘Still not…married,’ he mutters. ‘Single.’
Eshwari rolls her eyes. ‘So are you, BJ. Chachiji called me today with a rishtaa for you, by the way. A very jolly widow—sixty years old, but looks a nubile fifty-three—plays kot-piece—and knows seventeen different ways in which to cook Maggi. Should we set up a blind date?’
‘Shut up, Eshu. BJ, you didn’t answer. Who’s the builder? The same person who bought Ashok chacha’s house?’
‘No-no,’ the Judge says, his fluency suddenly restored, the words flowing easily, tripping off his tongue in a carefully-casual rush. ‘It’s that bugger from next door—that tall, troubled fellow. He’s made a big name for himself in the construction business, he says.’
‘Not Steesh?’ Eshwari’s voice is practically a squeak.
‘Yes, him only.’ The Judge swivels to smile at her. ‘Your South Indian admirer. E for Engineer. He brought the chocolates. And the offer. Satish Sridhar.’
‘Did you see Eshu mausi’s face?’
‘Yes, of course I did,’ Samar replies. ‘But as it was just one face in a split screen of four and BJ was hogging the screen, I couldn’t see much, and I doubt you could either. What’s your point?’
Bonu jumps up and down, her face bright with excitement. ‘When BJ said Satish Sridhar, she went absolutely white!’
‘She’s a fair-complexioned girl,’ Samar maintains fair-mindedly.
‘Uff!’ Bonu whirls to point a finger straight to his nose. ‘You just don’t want to admit she may like him, because you…’ She waggles the finger and comes to a taunting, suggestive halt.
‘…used to like her yourself,’ he completes the sentence calmly. ‘God, how old are you? Twelve?’
Bonu turns pink, irritated that he’s made her look like some giggly teenager. Why is she incapable of talking naturally in front of him? Either she gets all snarly and taloned, or she gets all flaky and feather-brained. This has to stop.
‘Twenty-six,’ she replies.
‘Really?’ He looks faintly surprised. ‘Wow, in my head you’re still some little kid running around, threatening me with jars full of susu.’
She ignores this.
‘You really don’t fancy Eshu mausi anymore?’
Samar gives an incredulous, mirthless laugh. ‘You don’t give up, do you?’
‘Really?’ she presses. ‘Like, not even a bit?’
‘No.’
‘But you were madly in love with her!’
Which, Samar reflects, is not entirely untrue. He had certainly nursed his crush on Eshwari to epic, reverential proportions in the hothouse atmosphere of the all-boys Mayo College hostel. When he’d arrived at Hailey Road for the holidays after his class twelve boards, finally eighteen, and eight whole inches taller than the twenty-four-year-old Eshu, he’d felt the time was ripe to declare his passion. Bonu, lurking about the house, a scrawny, undersized twelve-year-old, had egged him on for dark reasons of her own, assuring him that Eshu liked him and that his advances would not be rebuffed.
It had ended badly. Eshwari had dismissed him as a silly boy. Then, when he tried to take her in his arms and ‘be masterful’, as Bonu had advised, she boxed his ears sharply and ordered him out of her room. He had found Bonu holding her sides and guffawing herself sick just outside the door when he exited, red-faced. He had shaken her shoulders very hard, stormed out of the house, and sworn never to trust her again. He still doesn’t.
‘Why’d you tell me she liked me?’ he asks her now. ‘Sheer bloody-mindedness?’
Bonu looks away.
She remembers that afternoon well. She’d been so excited that Samar was coming home. She had combed out her ratty little crop of hair, put cream on her skinny knees, and worn her frilly new Benetton blouse, the one that made her look like she had a little boobage. And then he had bounced in, so tan and lean and heart-breakingly hot, and confided in her that he was in love…with Eshu mausi. The cow who kept telling BJ that Bonu was spoilt, that she needed to study more and watch less TV! The cow who was in some weird, complicated relationship with the only other hot guy on the road, Satish Sridhar.
She shrugs.
‘You know why I did it, Samar. You’re not that dumb.’
At least he has the decency not to look clueless.
‘No, I’m not,’ he says simply. ‘I’m sorry I was so nasty to you, Bonu Singh.’
‘Yeah, whatever.’ She glances at him briefly before looking away. ‘I still find it hard to believe you’re over her. Like, completely.’
‘Why?’ he asks, amused. ‘After all, you’re completely over me, aren’t you?’
And Bonu can feel her face turn red, bright red, right there, under his gaze.
‘Oh, yes,’ she replies airily.
The Skype session has exhausted BJ. He goes to bed early, and Samar finds himself at a loose end. Hoping distance has lent him detachment, he pulls out his laptop and sits down to watch the edit of his film. He is about a quarter of the way through, thoroughly dissatisfied and frowning moodily, when the sound of somebody banging hard on his door makes him start. The room is dark and disorienting, and he stumbles several times before he can switch on the light and yank open the curtains in front of the glass doors.
Bonu stands on the other side, dressed to party, her mouth even redder than usual, jumping from foot to foot and jingling urgently in a black gypsy skirt and scarlet sweater. He eyes her warily.
‘What?’ he demands. ‘Dammit, I’m working. Go away, Bonu Singh.’
She pulls crazy faces at him, pressing her face against the glass. He sighs, slides the bolt open and lets her in.
‘Can you drive?’ she pants, half-falling into the room.
‘What?’
‘Uff, can you drive a car? The old Ambassador? ’Coz I need to get somewhere quick.’
‘Now?’ Samar reels. ‘Where? And why can’t you drive yourself?’
She leans on the door-jamb, eyes wide open, pupils huge. ‘Drrrrunk!’ she declares. She points at herself to make things clearer. ‘Me. I’m drunk. And the Trings are drunk too, so they can’t drive me either.’
‘Celebrating the news of your inheritance?’ Samar asks, somewhat snidely.
But Bonu has started jumping from foot to foot again. ‘Please! It’s an emergency! A matter of life and death! I can’t drive, I tell you—it’s foggy and I’ll bang into things.’
‘Take a cab.’
She sucks in a shocked breath. ‘That’s so expensive! Why would I take a cab when we have a car and you can drive?’
Samar looks at her in disgust. ‘You’re so cheap.’
‘Yes.’ She smiles proudly.
He starts to shut the door on her.
‘I’m going back to bed. Whatever it is can wait till morning.’
Now she grabs his arm, hanging off it, fixing huge, appealing black eyes on him till he feels quite hypnotized.
‘Quit looking at me like Ka from The Jungle Book.’
‘Please. Emergency.’
Ten minutes later, he is nosing the ancient Ambassador out of the rusty green gate onto misty Hailey Road.
‘So who is this Parveen again?’ he asks. ‘And what is her problem?’
‘She’s one of my tailors,’ Bonu replies tersely, her hands gripping the dash, her eyes on the road. ‘A good, capable girl. Her husband is a chut.’
Samar cocks an eyebrow. ‘Could you elaborate?’
‘He’s an alcoholic.’
‘I see. Wife-beater?’
Bonu nods grimly. ‘Because she’s had four girls. That’s the official reason anyway. Not that he needs a reason.’
‘Big guy?’
‘Huge. She comes to work with blackened eyes quite often. Or nasty bruises. Once there were strangulation marks around her neck. The time that happened, I went to their place and threatened to have him put in jail. He backed off a little, especially when she got pregnant again, but now that the baby girl is out, he’s gone back to his old ways. Bastard.’
He looks at her curiously. ‘You really look after your crew, don’t you?’
She hiccups, blinks, and crosses her arms. ‘Yes.’
After a while, she adds, clearly feeling this admission requires some explanation, ‘I can’t afford to have key people miss work because of crap at home, na. It affects my deadlines.’
‘Ah.’ He nods. ‘I knew there’d have to be a good, practical reason for your concern.’
