The Benefit Season (4 page)

He ends by lauding the team, and leaves with
the Nagraths for lunch at the iconic Taj Hotel, built by Jamshetji
Tata after he had been denied entry in the Watson’s Hotel in
Mumbai, which didn’t allow non-white guests!

ϖ

The office never sees or hears of Tom again,
but I do; as early as the first thing the following morning when
Monal summons me, before I could even lick my fingers and part my
hair and check in the washroom if any blemishes remained on the
hurriedly scrubbed face. I’d gotten late during my ritualistic run,
having enjoyed it barefoot on a beach for the first time in my
life.

ϖ

I do not know why she always stands with her
back to the person she talks to, but she does.

‘
You heard what Tom said,’
she asks. She wastes no time in coming to the point either. She is
direct, curt, but doesn’t face you. You don’t interest her, you
don’t matter and you don’t need to be treated as an equal, is what
she probably means. My ego, which never was on steroids is now
mothballed away, as I start to admire the slim waist and the loud,
birthing hips, and miss the next question, as I did during our
first meeting.

‘
Dreaming again, Mr.
Pasricha’?

The way she wraps her tongue around my name
and spits it out makes it sound obscene. ‘Yes Monal- no Monal’, I
reply foolishly, as she catches me staring again, in the reflection
in her floor-to-ceiling mullioned windows.

‘
That we need to move
beyond cricket - is it not what Tom had said?’ She
mutters.

‘
Indeed’.

‘
I am assigning you this
new responsibility. You will answer directly to me and assist me
now onwards. The other teams are managing their clients pretty
well; I don’t want to disturb the harmony or make violent changes
here, as yet. But you are new- you don’t have an established
mindset. I want you to identify celebrities- from any and every
field- and bring them into our fold. Talk to them, pitch to them
and set up appointments with me if necessary. Speak to Lily- she’ll
give you a list of probables that you can tap. She’s an old hand-
she will give you a running start.’

‘
Fine’.

‘
We are industry leaders;
people follow us closely, so confidence is important, Mr. Pasricha.
We have just begun top-secret discussions for a contract with a TV
channel, and I am told; even as we stand here and speak; Prerna
from Plagiaristix- that’s our competition- is already trying to
filch our idea from right under my nose. So discretion is what I
would advise as you start work here. You must learn to covet
closely the value of information; give none and take all you can,
and run. Listen closely and keep your mouth tightly shut; say
nothing unless you are planting information calculated to cleverly
serve your ends- in the end’.

‘
I read you loud and clear
Monal’.

‘
And another thing Tom had
said- shelf life- is it not?’

‘
Yes, short shelf life of
cricketers- he’d meant I think’.

‘
He wasn’t very right
there actually. Cricketers here have a very long shelf life- they
never let any new talent come in! People die playing Ranjis without
ever making it to the national team. IPL is changing all that now,
but still you will find the old timers choking the competition of
all sunshine and rain. If their shelf life does get shortened- it
gets so by their own doing. Do you watch TV, Mr.
Pasricha?’

‘
Not lately’.

‘
Our Malabar Mallet- our
star performer- Kunju- whom we were so proudly mentioning
yesterday, is all over the news, running butt-naked down hotel
corridors, chasing cheer girls equally unattired; shocking decent
people. The hotel cameras captured the scene early this morning I
believe, and some nosy reporter got hold of the footage, and now
it’s prime news’.

‘
We should be worried, I
guess?’

‘
You bet we should be; we
are a nib away from signing on the dotted line for a kids
nutritional-drinks company’s advertisement campaign for our star
here. The memory of his retreating bums on TV is hardly going to
inspire our tiny tots’ moms into investing in the drinks he
pushes.’

‘
How true’!

‘
I got a call from the
company just now. We need to pull his ass out of the screens, and
get him out of lock-up where they’ve hauled him for disturbing the
peace.’

I wonder why she’s giving me all this info
on Ninkush’s star account. Then I remember I am to assist her in
everything, which I guess loosely means office lackey.

‘
I want you to accompany
me to the police station and snatch his sorry ass before there’s
any more damage’.

She walks out while I’m still standing
there. After a pause I rush out after her and follow her into the
company cab. We drive to the station and meet the SHO. Monal seems
to have made a few calls already because our lawyer is waiting with
the paperwork and we make bail before I can hit the high spots with
a useful comment. The SHO leers across at her when she signs and
asks,’ madam, what is your relationship with Kunju?’

‘
The same relationship
that your mother has with you, that is if you know who she is’, she
replies coolly as we leave him struggling with the filth that halts
at his lips parted in a dark scowl. She is obviously much more than
just a desirable woman; I salute her.

Kunju is sitting barefoot on a concrete
bench in the lockup and crying like a girl, surrounded by some
curious, some amused men who it seems are not going to let him last
a butt virgin another night in there. We take Kunju out through the
back door, avoiding the cameras up front and speed him to the
hotel.

‘
Should we go to another
hotel’, I ask, thinking it’s a smart comment.

Monal has already thought of that one; her
silence tells me.

Kunju has stopped crying and is back to
being the star that he was, or is, or will remain. ‘Does he work
for me,’ he asks Monal, pointing at my nape. She nods.

She calls up the manager of the hotel where
we are headed and asks him to be ready.

‘
Get me some decent
clothes’, Kunju pokes me; he’s wearing pajamas with nude girls
printed on them.

‘
I have your clothes in
the back. We checked you out of that hotel this morning’, Monal
replies, saving me the trouble. She thinks of everything; works
with a quiet efficiency and doesn’t make a fuss. I like that. My
Aarti; a smile creeps to my lips as I think of her; on the other
hand is bubbly and can’t keep anything down and lets the whole
world know what she’s up to.

‘
You think of everything,
baby. I knew I didn’t make a mistake bringing you in my
employ’.

Monal smiles wryly and looks out the window.
I happen to briefly look back at her and see when Kunju lets a hand
fall carelessly on her bare knee and gently kneads it. When we
reach the hotel the driver takes the car to the backside where the
staff elevators are. Although there are no orders for me I sense
Monal’s discomfort and come out and hold the door ajar for
Kunju.

He looks at me and then at his hand that is
still on her knee. She has not moved. He shrugs, raises the hand to
his nose and smells it deeply. ‘ I will not wash it’, he tells
her.

Monal tosses her mane and turns away, her
eyes hidden behind dark glasses.

‘
Come for a nightcap?’ he
asks her. It is noontime.

She breaks into a laugh. ‘Go home Kunju,
you’ve had enough excitement for a day’.

‘
I want to take it from
where I’d left last night actually’, he explains.

‘
Then take it up with the
same people. I have a meeting with the STAR TV studio boss-
remember that dance contest we’re arranging for you- sponsored by
none other than Puma? It’s 150-episodes long and it will get us the
eyeballs that we want so badly. And eyeballs lead to the rustle of
the crisp and the shiny notes. Do you like the jingle of coins in
your pocket, Mr. Kunju?’

‘
I love it- better than
the smack of my ball against the wickets, honey’.

‘
Then let me go make that
music for you Mr. Kunju.’

‘
Can’t we make some music
in my room- just a few moments?’ the idiot persists.

‘
I make my music in the
office, where I will see you’.

‘
Thank you sir.’ I
interject, bend and touch his arm lightly; ready to drag him out if
he wants. He suddenly remembers the creeps in the lockup and
decides he’s had enough for the day.

‘
Music…’ he says, cupping
his ears, smiling at Monal, and steps out.

‘
There are no cameras in
the corridors here Kunju’, she says. Kunju ups his thumb and grabs
his crotch.

‘
Room 403’, Monal calls
after me as I haul his bags out and take him through the kitchen to
his room by the staircase. The manager is waiting there and takes
over from me.

‘
Where’s the bar at’,
Kunju is already asking, as the manager fawningly closes the door
after them.

I traipse down the stairs, glad to be rid of
my charge. I edge into the front seat but Monal asks me to sit
behind, beside her. I am careful to tuck my elbow out of her slim
side.

After awhile she goes,’ two days into the
company and we are already feeling possessive, Mr. Pasricha?’

I remain quiet, hoping she doesn’t notice
that my ears are red.

‘
You need to hold your
horses; there’s little need of getting physical with our
clients’.

‘
I couldn’t stand
it…couldn’t stand him’.

‘
Athletes have a naturally
higher libido than normal people- you should know it better, Mr.
Pasricha’.

I wonder whether if the same holds true for
her and me as well, but it is not my place to ask.

‘
Men like him are always
falling over themselves to get cozy with me Mr. Pasricha- I can
handle them without your help’.

‘
Yes ma’am’.

‘
What do you think I would
have done if he’d asked me to fire you- on your second day at
work?’

I sit still, and then face her for the first
time that day and say,’ I don’t think, Mrs. Nagrath, that you were
in any mood to give him what he wanted today’.

She chuckles and that’s that then.

ϖ

It’s beginning to drizzle and the wind sets
up a howl. Drivers get impatient and there is such a cacophony of
horns on the streets that inside the car we cannot hear each other
speak. So though we like the feel of cool breeze on our faces we
roll up the windows and wait in silence to reach the office.

I go sit with Lily who gives me a folder
containing portfolios of likely celebrities we can tap afresh or
poach from other companies. There are stick-it posts with useful
comments on our previous encounters with them. I discuss them with
Lily briefly and tick a few likely victims I am going to start
pitching to from the next day. I start working on them but meet
with little success; they say:

“
Doesn’t fit into my
schedule right now”.

“
We would love to work with
you on another project some other day, but not right
now”.

“
Monal sucks best, remember
me to her will ya”.

“
I’ll sell my soul to the
devil but wouldn’t do business with you people”.

“
Yeah I’ll call you back
if I change my mind- in another lifetime”.

“
Sure you would love to
represent me- who wouldn’t?”

I realize now how much thick-skinned effort
would have gone into acquiring our existing portfolio. After three
days of a hundred telephone calls daily I am getting nowhere. I
avoid running into Monal but I’m sure she’ll summon me anytime and
from down that pert nose freeze me with a stare, or worse, singe me
with rebuke.

With nothing to show for a glum week at the
new job, my shop shuts down for the weekend, and with nothing else
to amuse me with, good friends Lele and Lily plan on taking my
bruised spirit to QuBa to slip on the nosebag, quaff the frothy and
catch the latest standup comic act in town; “Hassled, Heckled and
Hustled” by Radhika Paz. A Jat girl with a sense of humor? Now I’ve
really seen it all. I am told she promises to be everything the
title says, and worse.

We strut into the softly lit pub with the
scantily robed Lily perched on the protective elbow of a
splifficatedly fortified Lele; they seem to be on the verge of
finding love in each other, but can’t bring themselves to take that
last step of commitment to close the deal. It will take a long
leave-taking to make the heart grow fonder, as it did in my case. I
speak to Aarti everyday now, three-fold and more, whenever I can
steal a moment alone. She will hit it off with these two, of that
I’m positive.

Drinks are served, the mics prepared; and to
the center stage is ushered a lady with closely cropped hair,
pinched face and a cruel mouth. Hands about to light a cigarette
pause, lips that caress the froth linger on the rim, as all eyes
come to rest on this curious, tall, spindly woman. Without so much
as a cautionary preamble she quickly begins to belt out a perfectly
nuanced tirade on everything that makes women in this world feel
oppressed and violated: household chores, oral sex, motherhood,
pussy farting, gassy husbands, singing vaginas, expired grocery
coupons, blocked credit cards and lastly, not enough chivalry to go
around. The men scan her loosely fitting shirt for signs of a
breast while the women tick off the boyish hips, the parched lips,
and her dull mop of matted hair. She believes in spitting filth for
effect and like an angry serpent stretches each final venomous
vowel with a hiss. She describes in excruciating detail the bodily
functions of processing human waste- during coitus especially, the
diminutive manhood of her husband and the vastness of her desire
insatiate till even the most twisted of minds raise their hands and
bow their heads to the drink, the smoke, the green leafies and the
meat on the table. Noone is amused, and noone bothers to clap even
when she pauses tellingly at the end of her flat punch lines, or
towards the end of the act when she wants to go down on the knees
and beg for applause.