Tulip Season (25 page)

“‘Heavy weight’ means pompousness,” Naresh said. “Pompous, he is. Even if I were to talk to him, though, I doubt he'll divulge any gossip—he's particular about protecting the privacy of his exclusive clientele. He has all sorts of measures in place. His doorman was once a champion boxer. And he'll let someone in only if he recognizes the face and only after checking against a register. They don't want photographers sneaking in.”

“Mitra just wants to meet with her friend,” Mother said. “Couldn't she be let in through the back entrance?”

“I suppose,” Naresh said mischievously, “a dishwasher could be bribed—”

“Bribed?” Mitra interrupted. “In new young India, you still do business the old corrupt way?”

Naresh laughed through his milky white teeth, half-embarrassed. “Just joking, ma'am.” His expression turned serious.

“A long weekend is coming,” Mother said. “We could offer the dishwasher a little something to buy chamcham sweets for his kids.”

Naresh wiped his hand in the napkin in one quick jerk. “You should be the one negotiating with the restaurant, Mashima.” Naresh fixed his attention on Mitra. “There is another alternative. Do you know a VIP who might be able to make a reservation for you?”

“I just got here,” Mitra mumbled, feeling somewhat defensive. “I don't know anyone.”

“Oh yes, you do.” Mother said. “Your high school friend, Preet. She's married to a big shot in the local government. Today, I phoned her to let her know you've arrived. I'm in frequent touch with her. She's not back yet from her vacation, but I caught her aunt on the phone. I told her why you're here.”

Mitra's heart skipped a beat or two. They had an ancient saying here: Whatever is heard by six ears doesn't remain secret for long.

“Ma, what are you thinking? First the
dhobi
, then Preet's aunt. Rumors could fly. Jay Bahadur and Kareena could go into seclusion.” Belatedly, she recognized the shrillness in her voice, and that mortified her.

Mother, a hurt look on her face, got up and scrambled toward the bedroom. The black border of her white sari slashed the air.

Naresh watched her until she was out of sight. Then his gaze slid back to Mitra. His disbelieving expression seemed to say:
you speak to your mother in such a disrespectful tone?
But all he actually said was, “You want to meet up with your friend that badly?”

Somewhere in this apartment building, a practiced hand plucked a sitar, gentle tones that resembled a deeply emotional human voice. Mitra closed her eyes for a second. She was trying her best to adapt, although not terribly successfully. She was searching for a friend who might not even want to be found, who might have intentionally abandoned her earlier life, including her friendship with Mitra.

A neighbor clattered up the stairs. Something came to Mitra. She would stick to her plan.

“I'm sorry to get everybody upset,” she said to Naresh. “But my friend might be in danger.”

“If she were a friend of mine, I'd try to keep her away from Jay Bahadur. It's like jumping into fire. You follow? It's madness. More than one starlet has regretted it.” Naresh paused and checked Mitra's face, then continued with: “I'm sorry. I don't mean to scare you. You're a guest of India. It's our duty to see that you have a pleasant and worthwhile stay here.”

“Guest? This is my home—I grew up in this building.”

Naresh got up, without meeting her eyes. “I must go now.”

Mitra shot to her feet as well. Naresh opened the door, then faced her. “I'm happy to finally meet Mashima's daughter.”

“I hope I didn't disappoint you too much.”

“Not at all. I'm happy to be of help.”

“Could I request you to bribe that dishwasher, if that's what it takes?”

“Yes, sure, but it has to wait a couple of days. I fly to Chennai this evening to attend the opening ceremony of a new hotel run by a friend. I'll be back in a day or two. I'll contact the dishwasher and report back to you. I know you're wondering why it couldn't be any sooner. It's our Indian time, you see.
Achha, ashi
.” I'll visit you again.

He pressed his palms together in a gesture of farewell, conveying peace and blessing, and Mitra did likewise. She left the
door open a little longer to listen to the plaintive melody coming from a neighbor's flat, someone singing, speaking of loneliness and grief.

She wondered what her sister was hearing just now. As she imagined her, Kareena appeared tense, disoriented, her cheeks marble hard. She was associating with criminals. She was in trouble.

Back to her room, Mitra picked up an issue of
Film Dunya
from a basket. Big headlines screamed about a marriage breakup in Bollywood's First Family.

She tossed the magazine back into the basket and covered her eyes with her palm. What if Bahadur abandoned Kareena, as he'd done with a former pregnant girlfriend? What would Kareena do then, with a child on the way?

FORTY-ONE

THE NEXT MORNING,
Mitra woke late, showered and dressed, popped into the living room, and found Mother intent on the
Hindustan Standard
. Mother's fresh white cotton sari glowed around her. The air bristled with the scent of the hibiscus oil she'd massaged on her head. The ceiling fan whirred, sending forth gusts of air and teasing her curls.

Mother greeted Mitra, folded the newspaper, pointed to a stack of cleaned pressed clothes on a side table.

“The
dhobi
came by with your laundry and some news. Jay Bahadur is going back to his village for location shooting in less than a week. The villagers are planning a big reception for him. It is expected that your friend will accompany him.”

Mitra pulled up a chair. “I must catch Kareena before she leaves.”

“Here's another bit of news from the
dhobi
. He gets all sorts of inside information due to his job. This one's a bombshell and he's gotten it from Jay Bahadur's great aunt. Apparently, he had a vasectomy a few years back. It's not public knowledge. His aunt laughed at the idea that Kareena's child is his.”

Mitra couldn't speak. How twisty it all seemed. “Either way,” she said a moment later, “I'd like to speak with Kareena. Is Naresh coming back today?”

“Not until tomorrow, but he's been working for us. He called about an hour ago. Jay Bahadur's assistant made a reservation for two for this Friday evening at Monopriya. It's expected he'll have dinner with his girlfriend. Now the question is how to get you a reservation on the same date and time. Unfortunately, the dishwasher has refused the bribe.”

“There has to be another way.”

“Sit down, dear. There
is
another way. Preet returned my call. She's back and she wants you to give her a buzz.”

“I can't wait to see her. Where's her number?”

“Here it is.” Mother handed her a piece of paper. “I had a nice chat with Preet. She's missed you. The woman is seven months pregnant, but stuck at home all day pretty much by herself. When I clued her in about what you're here for, she said she'd be delighted to join in our mission.”

“If she's that far pregnant, then—”

“She's bored, bored, bored and eager for our company.” Mother's eyes sparkled. “What a sleuthing team we make—a gardener, a pregnant housewife, a
dhobi
, a “sherpa” cab driver, and a retired schoolteacher. We'll defeat that actor guy, get your friend out of his clutches, and put sense into her head.” She paused. “Kareena is a fancy name, too fancy for my taste. I just can't get it out of my mouth.”

FORTY-TWO

PULLING ON A PAIR
of slim denim pants and a white blouse, Mitra recalled her high school years. She and Preet had been inseparable then. Preet was a good three inches taller and fuller of figure and her shrewd-eyed aunt always proclaimed she had health,
shashthya
. The older generation appreciated plumpness in women—a sign of a robust constitution and the ability to survive the ordeal of bearing children. The same elders had cast dubious glances at Mitra's matchstick body. But equally dissatisfied with their respective appearances, Mitra and Preet had commiserated.

A tinge of rivalry existed between them. Mitra was an exceptional student, at the top of her class, for which Preet envied her. She nicknamed Mitra “Bright Eyes,” whereas Mitra called her “Rosgulla Face” because of her round face and sweet expression. Mitra would often announce her wish to go to college, get a job, make good money, and only then consider getting married. Preet had wanted to marry right after she graduated from college. Despite endless discussions, they'd never agreed on the merits of career vs. homemaking.

What would Preet be like now?

Within half-an-hour, carrying a gift, Mitra arrived at the shore of a popular lake in South Kolkata called Rabindra Sarovar.

On weekends, during their high school years, Mitra would slip away from her tiny flat and join Preet here. They'd sit on their favorite bench and chatter up a tempest. A bandana tied around his forehead, a vendor would cry in a nasal voice, “
Garam
,
garam,
” or “hot, searing hot,” urging passersby to indulge in
jalebis,
crunchy, sweet-scented pretzel-like pastries haloed by sugar syrup. All too soon it would be dusk,
sandhya
, the time to slow down and meditate, as the sages had long proclaimed. Mitra would trudge back home.

Letting that scene fade from her mind's eye, Mitra took a closer look at the lake. Trees shimmered in the early afternoon light, kokil birds stared down at passersby from their high perches, and food
vendors in dingy turbans hawked their wares. The place was just as she had imagined it.

“Mitra!”

She turned to see Preet approaching from the south end. Smiling, her eyes misty, Mitra embraced her. “Preet! Such a long time.” A sense of joy welling in her, she couldn't finish the sentence.

“Look at you now.” Preet's gaze held a loving light. “Hey, you're a different person, but slender as ever. The gods didn't intend me to be stick-thin. Or else they'd have handed me instructions.”

“Shall we go find our bench?” Mitra asked.

They strolled down a trail, their eyes cast over the limpid waters, chatting about old times. Preet hadn't changed much. She had the same fair skin, the same broad forehead now brightened with a vermilion dot at its center indicating her married status, and the same shiny black hair pulled into a knot at the back. Pregnancy, however, had enlarged her already sizable frame, and she walked more slowly. Mitra could see that marriage and motherhood suited Preet. So did the blazing violet silk she had on, the luminous cluster of gold bangles, and the amethyst necklace.

A green coconut floated on the surface of the lake. They spotted their favorite bench under the flickering shadow of a banyan tree and walked over to it.

Preet settled onto the bench gracefully. “I didn't understand what life was about,” she said, “until I got married and had a child. I don't have a long list of ambitions. I call it a good day if the floor is swept, my husband isn't too grumpy, and my son has cleaned his dinner plate. I hope you don't pity me for not having a career outside home.”

“Believe me, I don't. We've made different choices. Seems to me you're where you belong in life.”

“Frankly, Mitra, I've missed you—I cried for weeks after you left—but I think it was better for you to have made that leap. You walk differently. You speak better. And you're much more poised.” Preet laughed, full-cheeked. “You used to be one clumsy girl.”

Inwardly, Mitra winced. “I didn't plan my life, either,” she said, “until I went overseas.”

“I kept asking your mother about you. She wouldn't say much. She isn't like my mother, who keeps track of every move I make. Even now, when I go visiting relatives in another neighborhood, my mother
checks in to make sure I'm back safely. You know
mayer pran
.” A mother's affectionate heart. “She shares everything with me.”

The remark brought about a sense of soreness in Mitra. So far, Mother had been reticent about her illness. Mitra wished to hear more about it, wished to have more of her mother's “affectionate heart,” and trust.

“Now, tell me about yourself,” Preet said. “I hear you have a German boyfriend. Oh,
baba
. What is it like to be with someone from Deutschland?”

“You end up learning Deutsch,” Mitra said, with a smile. If only she could confide in Preet that she missed Ulrich crushingly in all she did. She ached for his presence, under dynamic daylight or during static night hours. Wherever she went, she saw impressions of his being—in a balcony, on the steps of a temple and right now just beyond the iron fence of the park. Then she recalled the lies he'd uttered, his mood changes, and his violent past and the bright scenery dissolved before her mind's eye.

Then, noticing the seriousness with which Preet tilted her head, “He's nice. We talk. We do restaurants. We dance. We share plans.”

“Now that you're away from him, you're not sure?” Preet said in a wary tone. She'd always been able to sense people's woes. “You go back and forth? One minute, you're dying to see him, and the next minute—”

“You seem to be speaking from experience,” Mitra said in a light voice.

Preet narrowed her eyes; there was tightness around her mouth “My cousin's been in that miserable state for a month. She's hopelessly hooked on a guy.” She went silent for a moment. “Have you done a background check on your German? I hear it's common practice in the West. My cousin's detective agency handles that kind of work on the side and it's one of the few agencies to do that.”

Background check? Eyes lowered, Mitra shook her head.

It dawned on her that she was trying to show her relationship with Ulrich in a softer light, as though trying to justify it to herself.
Hopelessly hooked. On what? A dreamy view of a possibly dangerous man? Yes, that was her.

“I'd consider it an extreme adventure to date a man so different.” Preet patted her sari folds. “I should take the dust off your feet in respect. My husband comes from a similar background to mine. We grew up five miles from each other. Still, we squabble. The other day we fought over which brand of toaster to buy. Can you believe it?”