The Walls of Delhi (2 page)

Walk outside your home and take a good look at the little crowd that hangs out at the shop or stall or cart – and who knows? You might find where the tunnel comes out.

It was at this little corner of the street I first met Ramnivas. He'd moved to Delhi twenty years earlier from Shahipur, a small village in Handiya district near Allahabad, along with his father, Babulla Pasiya. In the beginning, Babulla washed pots and pans in a roadside dhaba food shack on Rohatak Road, and was later promoted after learning how to cook in a tandoori oven. Five years ago, he built a makeshift house in Samaypur
Badli village in northwest Delhi, itself a settlement of tin shacks and huts – and just like that, his family became Delhites. Even though the settlement was illegal – city bulldozers could come and demolish everything at any time – he'd procured an official ration card after last year's election, and increasingly entertained the hope they wouldn't get displaced.

Ramnivas Pasiya was twenty-seven, twenty-eight, max. Ramlal Sharma, the local council man, put in a good word and got him part-time work as a city sanitation worker. His area was in south Delhi, in Saket. At eight in the morning, he'd put his plastic lunch tiffin, full of roti, into his bag, and catch a DTC bus toward Daula Kuan, and then transfer to another bus that took him to Saket. Ramnivas would punch in, grab his broom and other cleaning equipment and head toward the neighbourhood he was responsible for. When he got hungry in the afternoon, he'd buy a couple of rupee's worth of kulche, and then eat his fill along with the roti he'd brought from home. His wife, Babiya, had made the roti; they'd been married when she was seventeen. Now he was the father of two – a boy and a girl – and would have had two sons if one hadn't died.

I first met Ramnivas by Sanjay's. He had a good reason for frequenting the neighbourhood: he was chasing after a girl named Sushma. She was a part-time servant who washed dishes and did chores for a few neighbourhood households, commuting every day from Samaypur Badli, where Ramnivas also lived. Ramnivas had accompanied her several times, smoking cigarettes or bidis at Sanjay's or drinking chai at Ratanlal's while she worked. Sushma was seventeen or eighteen, a full ten years younger than Ramnivas. He was dark-skinned and lean – if the actor Jitendra were a little poorer, a little darker, and a little
skinnier, you'd have Ramnivas. Sushma had a thing for him; you could tell just by watching them walk side by side.

The secret that I've been wanting to tell you is connected with the tale of Ramnivas. But please, promise me this: don't tell anyone who told you. You already know that I'm in way over my head, and if anyone found out, I'd be drowning in danger.

I saw Sushma just yesterday, and even today she came to clean a few houses in the neighbourhood. Every day, she still comes. Just like always.

But Ramnivas?

No one's seen him around for a few months, and no one's likely to see him anywhere for the foreseeable future. Even Sushma doesn't have a clue where he is. I've already told you about this kind of life: a man who you see every day can suddenly disappear, and never be seen again, not a scrap to remember him by. Even if you went looking for him, all you'd find – at most – would be a little damp spot on a square of earth where Ramnivas had once existed; and the only thing this would prove is that on that spot some man once did exist, but no more, and never again.

I'd like to tell you, briefly, about Ramnivas: a simple account of his inexistence that will reveal the first hint of the secret – the secret that these days it's vital we all know.

Two years ago, on Tuesday, 25 May, at half past seven, Ramnivas, as usual, was getting ready to go to work in Saket, forty-two kilometres from where he lives. His wife Babiya not only packed his plastic tiffin full of roti, but also placed a small metal lunchbox in his bag. In it was his favourite: spicy chole with vegetables, and aloo, too. Sushma was already waiting for him by the time Ramnivas got to the bus stop. Today, she was
wearing her red polka dotted salwar, had used special face cream, and was looking lovely.

The previous Saturday, she accompanied Ramnivas for the first time on an outing to a movie at the Alpana. During intermission, they'd gone outside and snacked on some chaat-papri. In the theatre and afterwards, and on the bus going home, Ramnivas inched closer and closer to Sushma, pleading with her to say yes, while Sushma continually deflected his advances. After they'd got off the bus and were walking home, Ramnivas announced this before parting: if she wasn't at the bus stop waiting for him next Tuesday, it meant she wasn't interested, and they were through.

Now it was Tuesday. Every morning after washing up, he'd ask Babiya for last night's leftover roti, eating it before he left. This morning, he wasn't hungry, but weirdly nervous, and tried to hide it from his wife. His heart sank as he left the house, thinking, as he often did, that Sushma was having serious doubts. So when he saw her at the bus stop waiting for him, Ramnivas was so overjoyed that he declared they should ride in an auto rickshaw instead of taking the bus. He insisted and insisted, but Sushma wasn't persuaded. ‘Why throw away hard-earned money? Let's just take the bus like we always do.' Ramnivas had fixed on the idea of sitting very close to her in the little back seat of the rickshaw, and maybe even getting a feel – and so he was crushed at her refusal. But Sushma's coming to the bus stop was a ‘yes' signal to Ramnivas, and the man was beside himself. Now really and truly happy, he sensed that his life was about to turn a corner.

He was always picking fights with his wife, Babiya. Doing the housework and looking after the kids left her with no time,
and one of the kids was always getting sick. Ramnivas could only remember one time (and he wasn't even sure of that) when he saw Rohan, his son, horsing around and having fun. Moreover, Ramnivas' pay cheque wasn't enough for Babiya to cover household expenses. Even though it wasn't her fault – she bought only what they needed – Ramnivas would let loose. ‘It's like your hands have holes in them! Look at Gopal! Four kids, parents, grandparents, and god knows who else living with him, makes less than I do, and still gets by! And you? Night and day, bitch and moan.' She'd remain silent, but glare at him with a stare whose flames licked at the inside of his head all day long. That stare made sure he watched every penny. When he got hungry, he let his stomach cry out in pain. If he felt like chai, he did what he could to get someone to shout him a cup. He rode the buses all the time without a ticket. Babiya's burning stare, the one etched in his head, saw to it he never had fun.

That Tuesday, Ramnivas told Sushma he'd leave work early and be at Sanjay's by two, since that's where she'd be waiting; then they'd go home together. Sushma had said that she didn't like waiting for him at Sanjay's (Santosh, the scooter mechanic, was always trying to flirt with her, and Sanjay, too, was always cracking dirty jokes), but in the end, she agreed.

And then, for the very first time, Sushma, very slowly and very deliberately, instructed Ramnivas to bring her some of those chili pakoras, the ones he'd been going on and on about that they sell by the Anupam Cinema. When Sushma made her request, Ramnivas could swear he heard a note of intimacy in her voice, even a hint of possessiveness, and it made him feel very good indeed. He said casually, ‘I'll see what I can do, let's
see how things go,' but had a very hard time concealing the fact that he was jumping for joy.

Ramnivas went on his way, happy, while singing that song from
Kuch Kuch Hota Hai.
After punching in, he told his boss, Chopri sahib, that he needed to leave work early to go home because his wife was so sick she needed to be taken to the hospital. Even though he usually gave employees a hard time about leaving early and would insist that vacation forms be filled out, for some reason he readily agreed. ‘Today's a lucky day,' Ramnivas thought.

That day, Ramnivas was sweeping the floor of a fitness club in a building that housed various businesses. Cleaning the gym technically wasn't his responsibility since it wasn't a government building, but Chopri sahib had instructed him to clean it, explaining to Ramnivas that rich people and their kids went there every day to lose weight.

The gym had every exercise machine imaginable: one for the waistline, another for the stomach muscles, and another for the whole body. The prosperous residents of Saket and their families went there in the mornings and evenings, spending hour after hour busy on the machines. A beauty salon and massage parlour occupied the first floor. Middle-aged men of means would go for a massage and, occasionally, take some of the massage girls back to their car and drive away. Ramnivas had seen policemen and politicians frequent the place.

Govind's chai stall was right outside, and he told Ramnivas
that a girl named Sunila earned five thousand for accompanying gentlemen outside the massage parlour. ‘Who knows what these fucking big shots do with themselves in there,' he said. ‘I've seen them throw after-hours parties, boys and girls right from this neighbourhood.' Govind did well during the late-night parties since the drinkers and partyers sent out for Pepsi and soda all night long. Indeed, while cleaning the bathrooms, Ramnivas sometimes stumbled on the kind of nasty stuff that suggested that someone had had a good time, and it wasn't much fun to clean up.

What a life these high-flyers have, Ramnivas thought to himself. They eat so much they can't lose weight. And look at me! One kid dies from eating fish caught from the sewer, and the other is just hanging on, thanks to the medicine. Then he remembered Sushma, that she'd be waiting for him at two at Sanjay's, and he set his mind to finishing up work.

As he was sweeping the floor of the big gym, the rope on the handle of the whisk broom that fastened the bristles together began to unravel, and he couldn't sweep properly. Annoyed, Ramnivas banged the head of the broom against the wall to try and right the bristles.
What was that?
Sensing something strange, he again banged it against the wall. This time, he was sure. Instead of the hard thud of a thick wall, he heard something like an echo. It was hollow, a quick layer of plaster had been applied, but what could be behind it? Ramnivas wondered. A table and chairs, and a couple of burlap sacks stood between him and the wall. Ramnivas moved them to make space. Then he hammered the head of the broom into the wall, hard.

It was just as he suspected. A few cracks began to show in the plaster, which soon crumbled away, exposing the inside. The
strong smell of phenyl or DDT escaped. Ramnivas peeked in through the hole he'd opened, and his breath stopped short. He went numb. Holy cow! The wall was filled with cash, stacks and stacks of five-hundreds and hundreds.

He drew his face flush with the hole, and took a good look. The hollow was pretty big, like a long tunnel carved out on the inside of the wall. Nothing but stacks of cash, as far as he could see, all the way on either side until the light failed and the money was lost in the dark. Ramnivas' heart raced. His fear began to rise and he kept glancing around to see if anyone was there.

There was no one, only him, completely alone. Before him stood the wall in the big gym, at A-11/DX 33, Saket, against which he'd banged his broom and opened up a hollow, hidden space filled with a cache of bills.

‘Dirty money ... dirty money ... dirty, dirty, dirty!' came the words, like a voice whispering into his ear. His hair stood on end. Here he was, face-to-face, an arm's length away from the kind of fantasy he'd only heard about from others. But this was no dream, no fairy tale, but the real deal. He'd stumbled on it, and here it was, right before his very eyes.

Ramnivas didn't move for a few minutes, trying to figure out what to do. Finally, he grabbed his bag from the table in the corner and, peering around to make sure there wasn't anyone watching, took two stacks of five-hundred rupee bills and stuffed them in his bag. Then he took one of the burlap sacks and placed it in front of the wall to cover up the hole along with the table and chairs. He hoped no one would suspect anything. Then he gave the floor a good sweep, cleaning up the dust and mess and plaster, and strode confidently outside where
he plopped down at Govind's. He ordered a cup of Govind's strongest chai, and a couple of salty cakes.

‘Yesterday was fine, but today – too hot!' Ramnivas declared. But Govind wasn't in the mood to chat: a government jeep had pulled up, and an order for five cups of chai and salty cakes came from inside.

‘It'll get hotter,' was all Govind added, pouring the water into the pot. It was only half past eleven, and Ramnivas still had the better part of his cleaning rounds to finish. Instead, he went right to the office, hung up his broom, and said that he got a phone call alerting him that his wife had taken a turn for the worse. He needed to go home right away.

Each stack of cash contained ten thousand rupees, meaning that Ramnivas had twenty thousand. He'd never seen this much cash in his life, and was so scared that he rolled up his little bag and shoved it down his pants for the bus trip from Saket to Rohini. If any of his busy fellow passengers had had a moment to spare and had taken a good look at Ramnivas' face, they would have instantly realised this was a man in a state of high anxiety.

Ramnivas took a rickshaw from the bus stop to Sanjay's. He found Sushma joking around with the scooter mechanic, Santosh. This upset Ramnivas, but what unnerved him was when Sushma said, ‘Enjoying a trip in a rickshaw today, are we? Did you knock over a bank or something?' But then she added, ‘You said you were coming at two, and it's not even one. How did you get out so early?'

Ramnivas laughed. Maybe it was seeing Sushma, or just making it to Sanjay's – Ramnivas relaxed, his worries slipping away.