The Plunge (5 page)

Journalists eventually lost interest in the story. Newspapers stopped fussing over it. The matter was moved to the courts. The incident would resurface when a judgment was passed, years later. This time, the story would be filed by the court reporter, with a paragraph of background.

The train chugged along smoothly for most of the journey. Occasionally, it acted funny, went crazy, and galloped like a spirited horse. Was it the alignment of the rails or the empty compartments that made the jerky movements so terrible?

People normally pretended to be oblivious to the experience, though each was probably hoping the ordeal would end soon. One had to sit firmly on the seats to escape being violently tossed in the air. The bulkier women stared out as their breasts shook distinctly, inviting stares from horny men in general compartments.

Suburban trains invariably appeared more crowded than they actually were. Daily commuters stood near the doors, so as to escape being trapped between the seats or the stench of sweaty underarms.

A cool breeze rushed into the compartment from the creek that separated Navi Mumbai from Mumbai. On a cloudy morning, it was difficult to trace the thin line that separated the sky from the creek. Both the greys merged into each other at their point of connection. You had to strain your eyes to trace the hillocks in the distance that jutted out like shadows between the sky and the creek.

The calm waters dotted with small fishing boats were hemmed with mangrove thickets. In contrast, there was hectic movement in the water near the cool mangroves, with fish trying to breed in privacy.

It was similar to the illusory sense of seclusion of the slum dwellers when they lined up along the railway tracks to defecate. Men, women, and children squatted, mostly in the morning hours. Some faced the passing trains, others the low walls of the shanties they called home. What could be more mortifying than having to excrete in front of fellow human beings? Sad, what depressing lives they had!

Anjali looked away each time, every time, feeling sorry for them. Most passengers looked away, looked ahead, looked past the buttocks, big and small. If anybody wanted to research Indian bums, they should head to Mumbai for sure.

The creek was a wonderful stretch of calm water, an extension of the Arabian Sea that separated the two cities. The government was planning to convert part of the salt pans into a housing colony for slum dwellers, in order to relocate them from the heart of the city. The project would destroy the mangroves, dislodge the fish, and turn the place into breeding grounds for politicians and thugs. The slums were loathsomely dirty. They housed a vulnerable population, deprived of basic amenities. Disturbing thoughts…

It was still raining when the train reached Currey Road station. She walked through the drizzle, covering herself with the umbrella to escape unwanted attention.

She loved the ten-minute walk to the office, except the last stretch near the stinking men’s urinal, which made her want to throw up each time she passed by it.

The newsroom was buzzing with activity, with most of the reporters already in.

“Hi, Anjali!” Priya called out from the far end of the room as she entered. “You look tired,” she said, hurrying towards her.

Anjali checked her face on the glass divider of the chief’s cabin.

“How was the trip?” Priya came over and sat down next to her.

“Good, but tiring. Is sir in his cabin?”

“Not yet,” Priya said with a shrug.

Anjali switched on her computer and checked for Siddharth’s reply. She could not stop grinning when she found four emails from him. Wow! That was something.

She felt feverish as she went through the email:

Dear,

How was your trip to Kutch? Hope things are better for the quake-hit. Did you see any major change in these eight months between your two visits?

I missed you sorely during the past week.

BTW, I’ll be in Mumbai on November 2 and 3, for a meeting. Let’s meet. We’ll discuss the details later.

Yours

Siddharth

P.S. Don’t panic. I won’t eat you up; at least not this time. Hey, don’t blush, silly.

What? Was he really coming to Mumbai? He would meet her? Her palms turned cold but sweaty. It was difficult to decide if the trembling that originated in her brain and ran through the rest of her body was the result of the journey she had just completed or the one ahead. The only way for her to escape the blizzard of thoughts was to busy herself in work.

If she filed her story before the bureau chief came in, he could go through the copy and forward it to the Delhi office without delay.

As she started working, Priya sat next to her and watched her key in the story with unsteady hands. The rest of her colleagues did not seem to have noticed her.

As usual, Lara was the centre of attraction. She was sitting with her legs crossed, the chair pulled away from the desk so as to give a provocative view of her waxed legs.

“Unbearably sexy,” one of them had commented the day she walked in, months ago. All male heads had turned to admire the new advertorial head.

Two weeks passed quickly. Anjali was in a dreamlike state. The mirror became her favourite object whenever she was alone at home. Would he like her? Did she look skinny or just slim?

She slid the
kurta
off her left shoulder and looked fondly at the black mole that stood out prominently against her dusky skin. It would show up if she wore her deep-cut magenta blouse. The blue chiffon sari with embroidered magenta border should be perfect for the day.

Would she be able to chat with him as freely as she did on the Internet? Would she still feel as strongly for him once he stood before her? She felt nervous.

.

7
    

CHAPTER

Rendezvous

S
iddharth sat on the sea wall that ran along the coast at the Marine Drive and watched Anjali step out of the taxi. She almost tripped, distracted, as a breeze tugged at the sari from her shoulder.

She did not look around for him among the tourists wandering near the archway. That was strange, though perhaps not for someone as moody as Anjali.

Anjali walked to the left side of the Gateway and disappeared into the crowd at the quay. Siddharth hastened after her.

They were no strangers; having shared their thoughts about almost everything under the sun on the Internet over the past few months. She called up once in a while, though he preferred emails. He loved her voice. It was like the wind rushing through the reeds. Still, it was risky to let her call up on an impulse, more so when he was at home with Chandni. Though his wife never doubted his fidelity, why give her the chance?

Chandni was exceptionally fair and turned pink when excited. He was lucky to have her as his wife. The spark had been missing for the past few years, though. Siddharth shook his head, chasing away irrelevant thoughts.

“Hi Anjali,” he called out her name, annoyed with his racing heart.

She swung around, startled. He was standing behind her, gazing at her with a smile.

Anjali was a head shorter than him, and slender. She was a shade lighter than he was, but still fell into the category of dusky.

Anjali had a timid smile on her face. She stared at him but didn’t appear to see him. He stared back, grin on. She blushed.

Siddharth knew he looked barely forty. She liked him; to judge by the expression on her charming face.

Anjali bit her lip, turned her face away, and looked at him through the corner of her eye. There was a childlike innocence about her, which was in contrast with her sensuality which stood fleshed out in that transparent sari she was wearing. He was drawn to her the day he first saw her briefly, months ago.

They were both with the
Independent
at that time. He was in the bureau chief’s cabin when Anjali had walked in to discuss an assignment. Her mannerisms stood out. She tapped on the table, bit her pen, or wiped sweat from her face with the back of her hand, while talking. Her left hand was busy pulling back the unruly curls that blew over her face every now and then. Her face became animated, and those sad eyes sparkled, with each compelling idea from her senior. She was strikingly sensuous, yet strangely unaware of it, which made her a desirable woman.

Things had changed much since. She had shared thoughts without inhibition during the past months, after the initial dithering. And, now they were together. Anjali’s sigh said how nervous she was, but she also looked pleased. Only if she were less nervous!

Her shy smile made him realise that he should not stare at her like that.

She was a woman, not a girl she had appeared to him in the office that day. The thin metal bangles on her hand tinkled like soft wind chimes each time she pulled back the stray curls from her face.

“Let’s take a stroll,” he said. She walked with him on the esplanade, along the sea.

He used to think that Anjali was the boring kind, given the impression among colleagues. But that was just how she chose to project herself to the world, as he came to know with time. She was a gullible woman. That could be the secret of her aloofness, it was her protective armour. Why was she so insecure?

Anjali looked away whenever he turned to her. She fidgeted with her bangles or adjusted her sari when she was not busy with her hair.

“I guess you’re not always this restless!” he teased.

She turned away, slowed down, and said, “Actually, I am. I’ve always been a little hyper. My friends tease me about that.” She turned around and glanced at him as if for a reaction.

He grinned.

“I love your eyes. How did you manage to trap the ocean in them,” he said, gazing at her face.

Anjali blushed and looked away.

She appeared more relaxed as they resumed their walk and glided along the pavement. The sky was overcast, which added romance to their moment.

The place looked fascinating by dusk, all lit up. It was called the Queen’s Necklace because of the effect of the lights along the circular road parallel to the sea.

“So, how do you find me?” he asked. “Are you disappointed?”

“Oh, no. But I was expecting an older man. I had pictured you as more mature, I mean elder…,” she said, as if she were changing a wrongly typed word in a story.

“You look pretty,” he said, expecting a blush.

She proved him right.

“We’ll go to the office before lunch, say, by noon,” he said.

She looked at him with a sulk. No visible excitement. She didn’t seem keen to get hired.

Newsdigest
was a popular publication. If she could impress the interview panel, Anjali could be the Mumbai correspondent. She wouldn’t even have to move to another city. He watched her face closely as they sat on the parapet.

Another couple sat a little away. The lovebirds were lost in a delusory privacy. The man was younger. The woman, in her mid-forties, leaned on her lover’s shoulder while he rubbed his unshaven cheeks along her neck. His hands were exploring her voluptuous body. A light breeze caressed them, nature’s futile effort to soothe wild emotions.

Anjali’s eyes were fixed on the excited tourists who queued up for the boat to the Elephanta Caves. The caverns in the island had mystifying rock-cut temples from the seventh century. They were said to be among the finest examples of Hindu architecture.

The Gateway of India marked the visit of King George V and Queen Mary to India in 1911, according to the inscription on the landmark. Behind the imposing structure was the vast expanse of the sea. The same gateway had welcomed many viceroys, governors, and other British officials when they had come off their ships to administer good governance to their oriental subjects, said the tourist booklet that he had flipped through a moment ago.

She was withdrawn, so unlike the chatty Anjali he knew. Shy? Maybe he should not have stared at the couple writhing in passion so near them. Not appropriate. The damage was done.

He fixed his eyes on the passing traffic. Vehicles sped with passengers towards various destinations. Her eyes followed the traffic.

What kept her so occupied? Her face betrayed the slightest emotion.

The tiny diamond nose pin made her even more attractive. He was proud to be there with her.

But, why was she still unmarried? He had never asked her before, and she had never told him on her own.