Sri Bagyalakshmi Apartments

Chapter 1

I glanced at my cell phone, the time was 7 am already. All of a sudden, my destination seemed very far, and it felt like it will take forever to reach. I quickened my pace.

Number 18, Sri Bagyalakshmi Apartments. The name board came into view. Automatically, my body turned towards the gate next to the name board. As I entered the complex, I threw a nervous glance towards the west wing building. All the balconies were empty and I heaved a sigh of relief.

Without wasting time, I tried to dash into the East wing building. I fastened my pace, and was almost running.

“Vijaya” called a voice. A voice that I dreaded and was trying to avoid. All of a sudden, I felt the energy draining out of my body as I turned towards the voice.

“Yes, Maami?” I replied coming to a halt, with a plastic smile. Maami is a common way of addressing post-50 yr women in Tamilnadu, similar to the way Aunty used in the  rest of India.

“What! Is it Thaayar Mix?”, she said, referring to the idly batter packet in my hand.

I nodded my head, hoping that she would notice my disinterest in the conversation. Maami is a shrewd lady, and she would surely have noticed my discomfort. Maami takes great pleasure in pointing out others’ faults. Especially when there is an audience.

“Times have changed, Vijaya. Everything has become instant. These instant things have many chemicals which are very harmful for children, do you know?”

I just smiled and tried to walk away.

“But Vijaya” continued Maami. “Of all the people, you should know this.” Zap – Ouch.

“I don’t understand why young people think that making idly batter is such a big deal.”
“Women who are not working are also switching to instants”. Zap – Ouch.
“All it takes is a few minutes to soak rice and lentils, and grinding….”.

Maami continued giving instructions on how to make the batter. Today, Maami is a little bit more zappy than usual. And I was way too happy to let her zaps spoil my mood. As usual, I focused my attention on her diamond nose stud. It was similar to that of M.S. Subbulakshmi. At times, I would point out this fact to Maami, especially to please her. Maami would be quite flattered- she likes to be compared to the great singer. And she made it a point to announce that she too came from Madurai, just like M.S. And how  they are related to each other.
“AMMA”, the scream of my younger son brought me to this world and put a sudden break on Maami’s non-stop talking. I rushed into my building without saying bye to Maami, afraid that she may continue talking.

“What’s up today, Maami started quite early” commented my husband.
“Maami’s suprabatham, Appa” giggled my older son. I fake-frowned at my older one while trying to suppress my smile.

I quickly poured the batter in the plates and put the cooker on the stove. As I was packing lunch, my thoughts involuntarily drifted towards Maami. She is one of the most important residents of our apartment complex. Maami is quite popular for 3 things. Good filter coffee, Kanchivaram silk sarees, and painful zaps.

Everyone in our complex unanimously agrees that no one can make filter coffee as good as Maami. They always say “Coffee ennale Maami coffee thaan, romba nalla irrukkum” (Coffee means Maami’s coffee, its excellent) after a famous Narassu’s brand coffee advertisement. Maami is quite proud of her coffee. And she knows very well how to use her coffee to her advantage. We Chennai Tamils have a weakness for filter coffee.

Kanchivaram saris. She has a wonderful taste and knack in the selection of Kanchivaram saris. Her collection is beyond description.

And finally the painful zaps. If someone is trying to avoid Maami, she can immediately sense it. One can hear the gears working in her head. In a short time, she would easily figure out the reason behind people avoiding her. And most of the time she was correct. It is with vengeance and without mercy that she passes her zaps, although always sugar coated. During the past several years, I have seen many proud and smart residents insulted and humiliated by Maami.

An excellent politician, she puts all other politicians in the world to shame. She knows exactly how to stick a knife into your heart with a very beautiful smile. She is also very good at spreading gossip without much effort. And most of all, she likes to be the center of attention and run the show. Almost everyone fears her. They try to stay out of her way so that they can avoid the zaps. But Maami is too smart. She has a keen sense of smell. She can smell fear in humans better than a dog.

My thoughts centered around Maami as I continued with my work. I packed the lunch bags and went through my kid’s school bags to check if everything was in place. It was almost 8 am, I rushed downstairs with my kids since their bus would be at the gate anytime now.

As we waited near the gate, I was adjusting my younger son’s tie when we heard a honk. I turned to see my husband in the driver’s seat with a bright smile. The children and I waved to him with equally bright smiles. I was floating in air with pride. I held the hands of my two sons as my husband drove past us. At these moments, I wanted all the people in my complex to come out into the balconies and watch.

Chapter 2

“Hi” said Barbie with her thick American accent. We three turned to acknowledge her. My sons greeted her as I watched. She was impeccable as usual. Everything matched- from hair clips to the shoes. Barbie’s actual name is Vidhya. But everyone calls her Barbie. She is pretty, delicate, and always in the best of clothes. And everything was in shades of pink.

“New car?” commented Barbie’s father Mr. Krishnan.

“Yes” said I with a bright smile.

“Well, you better watch out” said Krishnan with a twinkle in his eyes.

“College girls go after guys with new cars”.  The one person whom I always enjoy talking to in our complex is Krishnan. He is always sweet, polite, and joking. Before I could say something funny, Barbie interrupted: “Dada”.

Immediately, his attention turned towards his daughter. Barbie is a very talkative child and she always has her parents’ undivided attention. I realized that it would be difficult to get Krishnan’s attention now. I watched father and daughter, and swallowed what I was about to say.

Barbie is 5 years old. Her parents came back to India when she was four, after 15 years of stay in USA. She is the center of their life and they are obsessed with her. Barbie’s mother is Lakshmi, nick named fatso. She is not actually fat, she has a broad base so she got that nickname. Lakshmi is so obsessed with her child that any conversation with her ends up in Barbie.

Barbie’s A/C school van came early. Her parents were almost ready to cry as if she were going to abroad for studies.

“Pull yourself together fools. She will be back by 2 PM. She is just going to school, not Mars” I murmured to myself. They can be irritating at times, but not bad people. They are one of the good families in our complex- as long as they are not talking about their child.

Slowly, the other kids in the complex started gathering at the gate. Schools vans from various schools were coming and picking up the children. Slowly, the commotion increased. Kids talking, parents screaming orders, sound of vehicles, van drivers shouting orders to the kids… This was a daily routine that took place in front of our complex.

Sri Bagyalakshmi Apartment complex in one of the many modern apartment complexes in our street. We have 15 apartments, 7 in one block and 8 in the other. Both blocks- East and West buildings- face each other. In between the buildings we have a playground. The gate is located on the Northern side, and on the Southern side we have a small Ganesha temple. In front of the temple, there was a small circle with benches around where senior citizens gather in the evenings.

Due to the boom of returning NRIs, our complex’s status moved from middle class to upper middle class. There are many US and UK returns, IT and BPO managers, couple of expatriates, pilots, and businessmen.

My apartment has returned to its quiet phase now. Like a battle field after a war- wet towels, socks, shoe polish and brush, combs, books, papers and chair cushions were every where. I quickly organized the cushions and walked into the kitchen with the towels and socks to put them in the washing machine.

Sita, my maid was already washing vessels with full concentration. The whole morning she didn’t make any comments and she avoided eye contact. She thinks that I will somehow forget that she didn’t come to work the previous day if she maintains a low profile. And I was in no mood to ask her questions. I can never understand the psychology of maids, they go out of their way to lie. And they avoid the truth like it is a disease. So they come up with excuses sometimes which are very difficult to imagine.  Like once my maid told me that her neighbor died and it is not a good omen to pass a dead body placed outside, so she didn’t come to work. I told her that the road has two ends, she could have used the other side. She had no answer.

Coffee or tea with lots of milk and sugar is a drug for Chennai maids. While I made coffee, I watched Sita. She is only 23 years old and is on the edge of becoming a spinster in her society. She is around 5 feet tall, dark, slender and can be called average beauty. I was able to tolerate her for so long because she is reasonably clean and I haven’t lost anything valuable in the house. I came to trust her and learned to put up with her occasional disappearing acts without prior notice.

Sita finished washing vessels, and was busy putting them in the shelves. Every time she walked past me I could smell the Jasmine flowers in her hair. Almost every day she manages to put Jasmines of one kind or another in her hair. She arranges the flowers so well I always admire the way they stay in her hair. In fact there were numerous occasions she arranged flowers in my hair.

“Here is the coffee” I gave her a glass while I took my cup to drink. Sita sensed this as an opportunity to break the silence. By default she is a chatterbox and cannot keep quite for long.

“I saw sir driving the new car”. The stupid grin came back on my face. I nodded.

“Kids got the color they liked” she continued.

“It is a big car many people can sit inside, may be 8 or 10. You must be happy, now you can go to the movies in the new car”.

I smiled and told her that we all could go together to the big temple one day. She was happy to hear me say that. Sita was right. I was very thrilled and was in a good mood since yesterday. We bought our first brand NEW CAR!!!

Chapter 3

I come from a middle class family. My father used to work in a bank. Even though he earned a reasonable amount in salary, we never got anything more than the basic necessities. My father always gave away a good chunk of his salary to his mother and siblings. My mother always resented this but never had the courage to tell that to my father. We never had a car. After my degree, I got married and my husband too was a bank employee.

Since he was in a junior post we couldn’t afford a car. Not having a car never bothered me and I hardly thought about it. Car was a luxury and not many middle class people had them at that time. And those who had a car hardly took it out.

My brother was the first person in our immediate family who bought a car. My brother, the love of my mother and smartest in the family, successfully graduated from IIT with a job in hand. He climbed the corporate ladder faster than anyone could imagine. On one Diwali day, when I was pregnant with my first child, he came home with a brand new white Maruti 800. We were all excited and I cannot describe my mother’s happiness and pride. She kissed my brother repeatedly and said, as she always says, “My son is the best”. She never directly says this dialogue to my father but we all know that she has directed it to my father.

She always refers to my brother as “my son” even when she talks to my father as if she produced him all on her own. As my brother grew so did my mother’s courage. I think the day my brother got his first salary, which was only ½ of my father’s, she declared independence from my father.

One word about my mother. Like many of her peers, her role models were Goddess Sita and Savithri. They believed that their only job was to serve their husbands, in-laws, bear children, and take care of them. And take all the nonsense directed at themselves. They took so much nonsense but never let their frustrations out. By the time their kids become big, they become the opposite. Or may be it takes them so long to gain courage that the accumulated pain, humiliation and the pent-up anger makes them aggressive and constantly critical. They end up being so critical of their husbands and in-laws that one actually starts feeling sorry for the husbands. Unfortunately, it was the husbands’ failure to understand, appreciate and admire their wives that caused it all.

My parents were very young when they got married. I think from the beginning my parents never had the opportunity to know each other. By nature, my father is not a very talkative person and my mother was too young to understand her true feelings or express them in a way that my father could understand. Also, a lack of time and privacy played an important role. My grandmother i.e my father’s mother, always tried to keep my father mostly to herself. She depended on my father’s income and felt that my mother might try to take him away from her.

Being the eldest daughter-in-law of the house, my mother was given lot of work and responsibility. My grand mother and her daughters were never overtly rude or abusive to my mother. They always brought her good clothes, and treated my brother and me very well. But they had a knack for making my mother feel insecure.

My parents never bonded even though they produced two kids. I never saw them share a joke or chat. In fact, I never remember them going to a movie together. They rarely talked to each other and usually their conversations were very short and restricted to a specific topic- for example about my marriage, my brother’s education, house repairs, cousin’s accident etc.

Three years after my brother got his job, he got married. And moved to the USA promptly. Initially, he wanted to sell his car, but he was offered very little money. So he decided to give it as a gift to my husband. My husband refused initially, but after a lot of persuasion from my brother and I, he agreed to buy it from my brother. We paid off the money over a couple of years.

As the IT industry grew, real estate values increased. Earlier we owned a small two bedroom semi-independent house which my husband bought with some of his colleagues at the bank. With the IT boom, our property value increased. A builder promised us two 2­-bedroom apartments outside the city limits in exchange for our property in the center of the city. We eagerly agreed to the exchange. So we were one of the earliest occupants of the complex.

Almost all of us were middle class people. Most of the residents used to work in banks, private companies, or in the education field. Life was normal and simple. But in the last 5 years, the apartments were resold to the IT and BPO crowd, and the status of our complex changed. Almost all of them have a brand new cars, with drivers. Even their kids have maids, fancy clothes and cupboard full of toys.

Slowly, an inferiority complex developed in me. Especially when I see their big brand new cars. My husband  is a very content person.  He is a simple man with traditional values. He works hard, and has hardly any needs. He is the middle son, with an older brother and a younger sister.

On our first night he had mentioned that he will be financially helping his family and would not like me to interfere with that. Well I heard that most of the men make similar type of comments on the first night. So I was not that upset.

Even now, he sends money regularly to his mother. I never asked him how much he sends nor did he ever mention it. But I should thank god, he is not mother’s baby and because of his job we never stayed with my in-laws. The mother-in-law hassles were quite few compared to other women.

I cannot say that our marriage is a perfect one either. In fact, we are not very close. We had our share of quarrels and happy times. We never opened up to each other. He  seldom brought me any gifts, flowers or sweets. If I asked for some he would buy them mechanically. After the end of first year I learned to buy the things I need myself instead of asking him.

Apart from work, my husband likes watching cricket and occasionally hangs out with his friends. He feels all the house work is a woman’s job, so never helps. He never ever put the dirty clothes in the hamper or hung a wet towel. He never was rude to me or abusive. He is a polite person and a man of few words. Generally polite and well liked by everyone. For him, owning an Ambassador is the same as owning a BMW. They are just cars with four wheels.

After lot of hinting, complaining, arguing, and fussing, I convinced my husband into buying a new car. Now that my kids were growing up, and also my husband was much more approachable, I was able to push my wish.

With the IT industry booming and one bank buying another, and increasing demand for people, my husband did well and grew up in his position. He got several raises and perks. More than anything, our old Maruti was having a lot of problems lately and the expenses to fix it were mounting. Being a banker, my husband realized it was time to say goodbye. So we finally got our new red color car. It is not a big one, still it is new and my inferiority complex disappeared and slowly superiority complex is taking it’s place.

Chapter 4

I was involved in my own thoughts and Sita was switching to her chatterbox mode. None of her chatting entered my head. Suddenly, the door bell rang and Sita answered it. I thought it must be Maami. She must have seen the new car and that is why she gave me couple of zaps in the morning out of jealousy. Now she is here to get more details.

“Watchman akka, someone came to see the upstairs apartment” Sita announced as she entered the kitchen. Mr. Ranganathan, one of the owners of the top floor apartment, moved to Hyderabad recently and gave us the keys so that we can show the apartment to prospective tenants.

“Take care of the house and finish the work. I will be back in 20 minutes” I told Sita as I checked myself in the mirror. I ran a comb through my hair and put a ponytail. I grabbed the key from the key hanger before leaving. The watchman followed me down stairs and pointed to a women in her late twenties.

“Hi, I am Preethy” said the women in a very low waist jeans and short pink top. Her midriff was exposed and there was a ring on her navel.

“Are you Vijaya?” she asked.

I stopped my examination and smiled at her and said “Yes”.

I thought of telling her that somebody already took the apartment, there is no way such type of women are allowed to stay in a ‘family’ complex. But I decided to show her the apartment anyway because while she examined the place, I could amuse myself by examining her.

“Mr. Ranganathan told me about this apartment and he gave me your number, but I lost it. Sorry to show up without calling” Preethy said.

Thank God, I thought, I didn’t tell her that the apartment was taken.

“It is okay. These things happen. Follow me.” I said as I lead the way.

There was no conversation between us after that. I opened the door and let her in. She walked around examining everything- cupboards, kitchen etc.  And I watched her. She  was wearing high heels, good looking, of average height, dark brown shoulder-length hair. She was wearing very big ear rings and some steel and black bracelets. When she bent to check the bottom shelves, her almost slipping low waist jeans slipped further down and I could see her Victoria’s Secret panties. It gave me a shock and I turned my face away.

She stood up and said “It is a nice apartment”.

Of course it was. A fully furnished house with a wonderful view of the sea.  I said to myself.

“I think I will take it” she said very casually with a shrug.

“WHAT? In your dreams lady” I snickered to myself. “You look like a…”.

Just then RING RING, her mobile went off. She pulled out a tiny cell phone from her almost ready to burst jeans pocket as I wondered how was she able to squeeze the phone in there in the first place.

“Hello, Mr. Ranganathan, I have to agree with you. The view is fantastic from the living room. I think I will take it.”

What??? I screamed again silently.

“Mr. Ranganathan wants to have a word with you” Preethy handed over the phone to me.

“Vanakkam. How are you? Mrs. Kumar?” spoke Mr. Ranganathan with a soft voice on the other end.  He sounded very grateful that Preethy had agreed to take the apartment. He asked me to take special care of her. She happened to be a very good friend of his.

In the mean time, Mrs. Ranganathan came on line and requested me to hand over the keys the following evening, because it was an auspicious day. Also, she said she would instruct her accountant to bring the lease agreement to our house. After the final byes, I handed over the phone to Preethy.

I was in a daze.

Chapter 5

After I got married and came to Chennai for the first time, we went house-hunting in an Autorickshaw along with my husband and a broker. This was about 15 years back and everything was new to me.

When the auto driver suddenly turned left at the red light and immediately took a ‘U” turn and then took a sudden left, I was scared to death. I held on tightly to the metal rod in front. I didn’t realize that a shriek must have escaped my mouth- the house broker who was sitting next to the auto driver turned back and gave me a smile.

“Pudusamma, Chennai auto enna ippadi thaan” he said with another big smile.

Then he started explaining: “When the signal turns red and we are at the front of the line, we have to wait for a long time for it to turn green. Instead of waiting, we take a left turn then a U-turn and another left turn. Without the policeman watching.” The auto driver turned around and gave me a proud look and a big smile.

It was scary and amusing at the same time. The broad smiles of the broker and the driver brought a smile on my face.

We had now become family, and that gave the right to the broker to discuss our personal lives. He started narrating our background to the auto driver.

“They got married two months back” went the broker.

“Is it” the auto driver nodded his head.

“They are our people (that means we are Tamils). From Selam. Sir is a Bank Manager”.

My husband was an officer, not a manager yet. But it was the broker’s way of boasting about us.

“Ponnu finished degree” the broker continued.

“Is it” the auto drivers head continued nodding.

After few more details the broker gave his final verdict: “A good pair”.

“Very true” approved the auto driver. They both turned back and gave their nod of approval.

I was getting used to it by now. Every stranger, train companion, vegetable vendor, grocer, house maid- everyone- discuss our personal details as if they are our close family members. They do it right in front of us and finally give their approval as if their approval were very important.

The Auto stopped in front of a building with four apartments. The broker took us to one of the portions. It was a single bedroom apartment. Simple and nice. We liked it and went to meet the owner of the apartment who happened to reside in the same building. We were thoroughly interviewed, scrutinized and cross examined by the owner, his wife and his mother. I felt so humiliated, and so was my husband. The broker was very apologetic.

On the way back my husband saw my sad face and tried to cheer me up. He placed his hand on mine. That is the closest body contact he ever displays in public.

And he said “They are trying to make sure that we are not an eloped case”.

That was the last straw. Tears started pouring down my cheeks involuntarily. I couldn’t stop crying. The broker and the auto driver who became my family half an hour back were moved by my tears. The broker briefed the auto driver about the conversation we had with the owner.

The auto driver became very angry with the owner and said: “Why do you have to take such decent people to these type of owners? This owner is a filthy character, everyone in this area knows about him. He was a mason once upon a time. One of the houses he worked for was that of a rich man in Kodambakkam. The rich man was in Dubai making money and this owner had an affair with the rich man’s wife. The rich man’s wife gave him lots of money and the owner used the money to build this apartment complex. Who doesn’t know his history? He sold himself for money and he thinks everyone is like that”.

“Thoo “ the driver spat on the road.

The broker said: “I didn’t know that” and he spat on the road with contempt.

And he continued: “I thought this area is close to Sir’s office and he can come for lunch home and Madam doesn’t have to be at home alone the whole day”.

The driver replied in a philosophical way: “Riches might come but character remains same. He showed his true character” and spat on the road again. The broker nodded and spat too.

I don’t know if it was the spitting or whether it was washing the owner’s dirty laundry in public that softened the auto driver’s anger.

He turned to me and said: “Don’t worry, everything happens for a good reason. A nice girl from a decent family shouldn’t stay with cheap people like this. You will find a better apartment”.

The broker and auto driver verbally abused the owner for sometime and later became silent.

Suddenly, the broker turned to my husband “Take her to a movie, that will cheer her up. Poor thing”.

The auto driver became cheerful again and started listing out the latest movie names.

“Take her to Roja. It is a family movie. New music director A.R. Rahman. Very nice songs. Super movie. The best part is Mani Ratnam directed it” he said.

Even my husband was pleased with the idea, he was really wondering how to cheer me up. He asked me if I was interested. When I agreed, the auto driver changed the direction of the auto to the theater. Now the atmosphere in the auto was cheerful again.

“Super songs. I saw one during Oliyum Olium program.” said the auto driver to the broker.

“Yeah I saw it too. It is very good. Chinna Chinna Aasai…..”  the broker sang a little bit of the song. Their conversation continued until we reached the theater.

My husband gave some extra money to the driver which made him very happy. We had really become family now. He reassured me that I will get a better apartment soon and not to worry. And also called the near by flower lady. He bargained with the flower lady and got us special deal on the flowers. The broker apologized to us again for putting us through such a bad experience and promised to find a decent owner soon.

Two days later my husband came to the bank guest house where we were put up temporarily. He had a big smile on his face. He had found an apartment for us to stay. It belonged to a colleague’s brother-in-law’s friend’s cousin. Very good people and decent locality. The whole office came to know about our bad experience, they felt very sorry that a decent couple were treated like an ‘eloped’ case. Everyone in my husband’s office got together and located an apartment for us.

Chapter 6

Now look at this girl Preethy. She looks like a sl**. Well, I don’t want to use the word. But she doesn’t look like she comes from a decent family. Doesn’t look like she is married. How can such people be allowed to stay in a ‘family’ complex? And to my utmost surprise, Mr. Ranganathan was begging her to take his apartment. Times have changed indeed!

Preethy finished her conversation, reassuring Mr.Ranganathan that she will take his apartment and turned towards me with a look that she is done.

After I locked the apartment, I told her to pick up the keys tomorrow. When we reached the playground, Preethy turned and said goodbye.

I was taken aback. I quickly smiled at her and invited her to my apartment for tea. I better learn a little bit about her after all she is going to be my neighbor.

She hesitated initially, but after some coaxing she agreed. She must have felt the same- she too needs to know about the complex and her neighbors.

Sita was mopping when we entered my apartment. “Make yourself comfortable. I will get some coffee”. I disappeared into the kitchen. Instead of sitting she followed me into the kitchen.

While making coffee, I gave a brief about myself. “Sorry we didn’t talk much. I am Vijaya, I am a housewife, my husband is Kumar Selvarathnam, he is a bank manager, I have two sons, 13 and 11, they are studying in St. John’s. We are long-time residents here.” She listened very attentively.

“Nice to know you Vijaya. I am Tamilian, but was born and brought up in Bombay. I cannot speak Tamil at all. I am a Manager at a Call center and also Fashion Designer. I need to travel quite a bit. Whenever I come to Chennai I stay in hotels. Mr. Ranganathan is a family friend and they said it would be nice if I stay in a homely environment instead of staying in hotels. May be they are right” she shrugged. I like the way she shrugs, it makes everything look easy and casual.

“Let us go to the living room” I told her taking the tray with coffee cups and murukku and threw an angry look at Sita, who stood the entire time staring at Preethy with her mouth open.

“Is that you with the kids?” Preethy asked pointing to the photo on the side table, which my husband took when we visited a tea plantation in Munnar. “You look so young to be a mother of two children. Your sons look like your brothers. You must have gotten married when you were very little” Preethy said picking up the photo.

A brilliant smile appeared on my face. “I am not that young” I said, involuntarily smoothing my hair hoping that she will not notice my gray hair.

I never paid any special attention to my age or youth until I hit 30’s. I became aware of youth only after I lost it. Preethy’s comments were like water drops on a dry land.  Automatically I started seeing Preethy in a different light.

Some silence followed.

“Bhaabhi, can I have your number please, Next time I will call you before I come”  said Preethy.

Bhaabhi! WOW! I felt like the bhaabi characters in Bollywood movies where the heroes and heroines fuss about. Like Salman Khan and  Madhuri Dixit in that popular Bollywood movie, oh I forget the name.

“Please don’t be so formal” I said very affectionately just like the bhaabhi’s of Bollywood movies. “Treat us like your family. Anyway take my number to keep in touch”.

After some more pleasant talk Preethy decided to make a move.

“Vijaya, I am sorry to bother you Yaaaarr!” Anandhi walked into the apartment. I left the door open and she must have heard the new voice so she came to investigate. Anandhi lives in the next block. For a long time I wasn’t sure what to call her. She is the world’s greatest con. She can manipulate anyone with ease. She looks like a lamp with a wick. She has a deep need to know about everyone else’s business.

Her balcony is situated right across our balcony in the opposite block. But still her dog manages to fall asleep on our doorsteps. It always remains a mystery to me.

“Sorry to bother you, Yaarr! “said Anandhi again. It is very funny the way she says yaarr with the rolling r. All the time, her eyes were on Preethy. I called to Sita to check the balcony. Anandhi was waiting for me to introduce Preethy to her . I know that but I said nothing. She became restless as she realized that I am not going to introduce her. So she turned to Preethy and said “By the way, I am Anandhi. I live in this complex. And you?” I was irritated with Anandhi’s behavior. She is always too meddlesome.

“Hi, nice to meet you Anandhi”.

“Bye Bhabhi, will call you later” said Preethy and walked away.

“Bhabhieee! I didn’t know that you have a sister-in-law yaarrr!” commented Anandhi with all the surprise in the world.

“Sure you do” I said.

Sometimes I wonder if I punch Anandhi’s nose, will it get flattened? How will her flat face look like with a flat nose?

“I didn’t know yaarr, really!”.

In the mean time Sita came with clothes and put them in Anandhi’s hand and said “akka the food is burning”.

I love my maid sometimes. She knows when and how to rescue me. That is one of the reasons why I learned to overlook her drawbacks. Besides, she too wants to know about Preethy.

“I haven’t cooked yet. Will talk to you later Anandhi.” I said.

I wanted to get rid of Sita too. I don’t want to talk to her about Preethy yet. Preethy was a show card and Sita is a loose mouth. She will spread the news within seconds throughout the complex.

“What time is it Sita?” I asked her as she followed me to the kitchen. She got alarmed after seeing the clock. She has to go home and prepare food for her brother and 2 sisters before they come back from school. She wrapped some sweets I gave her in a nice plastic bag and dashed out. Here is another weakness of Chennai maids. Plastic shopping bags. Sita always finds a reason to take away the best plastic bags from my house.

This time, I closed my doors just in case Anandhi tries to come back. I was not worried about Maami. She eats brunch and takes an early siesta. With no one to bother me, and my spirits high, I decided to make many elaborate dishes for my dear family.

My children and husband enjoy food, especially my cooking. My sons praise my cooking at every mouthful. Did I mention that my husband is a man of few words? He never says anything about my cooking, good or bad. But when he enjoys the food he rubs his belly and starts singing. Really does!

Chapter 7

Some days I feel that the phone never stops ringing. Our phone started ringing at 5 AM, it was from Mrs. Ranganathan, requesting us with a pleading voice to take care of Preethy’s needs and make her sign the deal by the end of the day because it happens to be a very auspicious day.

Even though the phone rates have come down dramatically, Mrs. Ranganathan calls very early or very late to save on phone bills. May be that is how they have amassed so much of wealth- by saving every paisa. Her phone call was followed by her accountant’s. Poor fellow, she must have woken him up too. This was followed by Mrs. Ranganathan’s call again, and then by Mr. Ranganathan’s to finalize everything.

The phone rang again, this time it was Lakshmi, Barbie’s mother. She wants the tuition teacher’s phone number.  I never liked Lakshmi that much, especially her American accent. She is nice to me, but I always felt that she feels superior to others because she belongs to the India-returned group. I had the number with me but I told her I will get it for her later. Let her wait I thought. A seeker is always a step below the giver.

“Do you think Preethy is an actress or a VIP?” I asked my husband. There was no answer. Quite early in my marriage, I had realized that most of our conversation will be one-sided, and my husband just listens. Sometimes he nods his head, and by that I know he is interested in the conversation. Sometimes he continues to read a book or newspaper, which means he is neutral. Only when he walks away does it mean that he doesn’t want to discuss that topic anymore.

This time, there was a smile on his lips. I think he was quite amused by the way Mr. Ranganathan and Mrs. Ranganathan fussed about having Preethy as their tenant.

So I continued “Usually tenants will try to please the owner to get the house for rent. In Preethy’s case it is opposite. These people are acting as if a divine goddess will be staying in their house”.

Around 10’clock I got a call from Preethy. “Bhaabi, how are you? Am I disturbing you?”

By this time, I was very much falling in love with the bhaabi role. I was looking forward to be called so.

My own SIL calls me Anni, which means SIL in Tamil, even though she is slightly older than me. She always liked her older SIL than me, and made this obvious often. During the 2nd month of my marriage, my husband went to Delhi and brought me the only gift in my entire married life, a chiffon saree from Delhi. I was so thrilled, it was an orange colored sari, with a black border and lot of gold thread work on the border. I just loved the sari and so did my SIL. She immediately snatched it from my hands and showed it to her mother, and then asked me if she could have it. I said no.

My MIL said “Anyway the sari is too transparent for a married woman, and you shouldn’t wear such type of saris”.

Well, how can a young bride fight with two mean witches? So my SIL got it. She wore it the next day and flaunted it. I was so hurt I never liked her after that. I never got another gift from my husband. I never bought chiffon sari myself after this. And, not to my surprise, my SIL continued wearing the sari after her marriage.

“Bhaabhi when can I come to sign the agreement” Preethy asked interrupting my thoughts.

“Come around 7 PM. Your brother will be back from office then” I answered.
Clearly stressing “your brother” to re-affirm our newly formed relationship. From my husband’s conversation with Mrs. Ranganathan, I understood that they decided to finalize the documents in the evening.

As usual, I was busy after 3 PM once the kids got home. I take them to tuition and karate practice. I need to take them on the scooter from one place to another. I haven’t gained confidence in driving a car. I am quite comfortable driving a scooter. Besides, I don’t have to worry about parking spots and scratches.

We reached home around 5 PM, an hour earlier than my husband. While I cooked, the kids played for sometime and later did their homework. I called my husband at his office and told him to come a little bit early. In fact, I need not have bothered, it seems Mrs. Ranganathan had already called him to remind him about the signature.

The Accountant also came at 7PM. I think he too was reminded by Mrs. Ranganathan several times during the day. We were all waiting for our VIP guest, and at 7:10 pm our door bell rang. Our Preethy came in with a sweet smile.

She gave me a hug and turned to my husband and said “Sorry bhaiyya for coming late”.

Her clothes were similar to that of the previous day: low cut jeans and small tight t-shirt. The accountant was kind of taken aback, but he hid his surprise. After all, she is a VIP of Mr. Ranganathan, one of his rich clients. I looked at my husband. He was a bit amused to see Preethy. But as usual, his face wore the neutral look. I went into the kitchen to continue cooking and the rest sat down to complete the paper work.

A little while later, we were in Preethy’s newly rented apartment. I had brought over a packet of milk for the traditional milk-boiling in the new house.

Preethy said “I don’t believe in all these things”.

“Boiling milk is a custom when we move into a new house. Old habits die hard, besides Mrs. Ranganathan insisted that I do it just in case you don’t do it” I replied.

Suddenly there was a loud sound from the TV. Preethy and I walked into the living room. My husband and children were already glued to the humongous flat screen TV watching cricket. I sighed and turned to apologize to Preethy, but we both heard a hissing sound and ran into the kitchen. Milk had boiled over the cooking range.

“This is one good reason why we should not boil milk” said Preethy jokingly, taking out some cloth to clean the spill. I joined her in the cleaning.

While the boys were busy watching TV, I watched Preethy unpack her stuff. There wasn’t much. She came with two suitcases, which she unpacked in the bedroom.  Most of  her clothes were the usual ‘modern’ type clothes. She also had 5 beautiful chiffon saris.

“They are beautiful!” I said, as I reached out and felt the saris.

She took one and put it on me. “You look gorgeous in this bhaabhi. Why don’t you take this?”.

I was taken back, and said no with a surprise and offended look. Offended that she was giving me her used sari. I may not be rich like her but I am not poor either to take some one’s worn clothes.

“I am a designer and these saris were designed by me. I can guarantee you that you will look very good in these” Preethy added.
Oh my god! Now she is trying to sell me these – a thought flashed in my head. Why am I jumping to conclusions? What is wrong with me?
“Not now, may be later” I said trying to stop my thought flashes.

“I don’t want to force you. Anyway, I will leave my house keys with you. You are welcome to take what ever sari you like” Preethy said.

Was she joking? I was finding it too much like a movie. She seemed too nice to be true. So what is the catch? Oh god! There goes my mind again. What is wrong with my thoughts?
Well, I have been conned a few times by people who I thought were good friends. So I have decided to take one step at a time with Preethy.

“Why don’t you have dinner with us today”? I invited Preethy to be nice and at the same time to change the subject.

My husband and children left her apartment reluctantly. During dinner I found out that she was single- which was obvious. She was a designer of saris and lehengas, also managed a couple of Call Centers. Her parents had passed away recently, and she has no siblings. Recently, she got promoted and she was managing branches in Chennai and Bangalore, and that was the reason for her moving to Chennai.

After some time, her office car came to take her to the airport. She left saying she was off to Bangalore and won’t be back for another 3 weeks, and handed over her house keys to me.

Chapter 8

Usually, the time between my kids arrival from school and after Maami’s siesta was an ideal time for gossip. During this time, most of us would gather in someone’s house for a quick hot coffee and gossip. I usually go to Maami’s apartment. She always has the best coffee and gossip- both hot.

I was very eager to see Maami. I have 2 show cards– my new car and Preethy. I was too excited. Maami would be drooling for news, especially about Preethy. I was sure by now the news about the new tenant would have gone around.

I rang Maami’s bell.

“Hellllo Vijaya” Maami invited me in cordially.

I followed her into the kitchen. I never observed formalities in Maami’s house. I saw two tumblers on the kitchen counter. She handed over one for me and she took the other. We walked to her dining table and sat down to chat. I sat down at the table with a feeling that I have an upper hand since I have the juicy information.

“Vijaya, do you know about Raghavan? It was such a commotion. My god!” she said placing here hands on her chest and a terrified look on her face.

Wait a minute! I screamed to myself. Hold on for one second. I have the show cards. I should be the one saying interesting things and it should be Maami’s turn to wonder and ask questions. But it was too late. Curiosity got the better of me.

“What is it with Raghavan? What happened last night?” My tail started wagging and Maami was ready to throw the treat.

Raghavan is one of the watchmen of our complex. A decent guy, he minds his business.

“Raghavan’s first wife came last night. She talked to me and Mr. Raman (our complex Association president). She threatened to burn herself in front of the complex. So I called few others and we tried to calm her down. I came to your house to fetch your husband but your apartment was locked. After calming her down, we found out that Raghavan beats her everyday. After a long discussion we found out that Raghavan has a second wife and he spends all his money on her. And this infuriates the first wife, and they were having fights everyday” Maami concluded.

“What? Raghavan has a second wife?” I asked with surprise.
“Yes, can you believe it? The world is becoming very bad day by day” said Maami.
“So what happened next?” my tail started wagging again.
“Raghavan agreed that he is married to the second one, and it was because he was tired of the first one’s nagging. He cannot leave the second one now. All of us yelled at Raghavan which seemed to calm his first wife. It was already 10:00 PM. We promised her that we will soon resolve her problem and asked her not to take any drastic action. She promised and went away”.

I was stunned. So much took place last night in our complex and I missed it all! As I opened my mouth to ask a question, the doorbell rang. It was Lavanya. I was surprised to see Lavanya. She was the new bride of the complex, married just 4 months back. She was always decked in diamonds and accompanied by her husband. Even though she is polite, she hardly joins in our group conversation or gossip.

“Hi Vijaya” she said and turned to Maami “I saw Vijaya coming, so I wanted to talk to you all”.

She and her husband were returning from a disco last night and happened to witness last night’s episode of Raghavan. She sat down on a chair facing Maami and me and started talking.

“Can you believe this? In this day and age. It is absolutely against Women’s Rights. It is illegal to have a second wife according to the Hindu Marriage Act. We should not permit such things to happen. I talked to some other residents. We need to sack Raghavan. These type of fellows should be handed over to the police”. Lavanya was very angry and her face turned red. She paused to take a breath.

Maami and I listened and occasionally nodded our heads. The other women of the complex joined us one by one. It was the usual practice for women to gather, especially when some episode like this took place in the complex. And Maami likes to conduct the darbar and preside over it. She happily provided her famous filter coffee. While we sipped the coffee, we talked about Raghavan’s episode and other incidents that happened to our friends or relatives, Women Rights etc. After sometime, Lavanya got up with full enthusiasm saying that she will talk to Mr. Raman. By now, we were moved by the Women’s Right speech of Lavanya. We agreed with her that Raghavan should be fired. But Maami just nodded and gave a smile.

I know that smile. According to Maami, she is always the right person to preside over any matter relating to anybody or anything she knows. By taking the lead, Lavanya stole the thunder from Maami.

Suddenly Sailaja turned to me and said “Since when are they giving the models along with the car when we buy cars?”.

Everyone was perplexed by that comment, including me.

“She is too short to be a model” commented Neeraja, the beauty queen of our complex, in a jealous tone.
Neeraja is of average beauty, but she thinks she is the most beautiful person in the universe. She was always impeccably dressed and with full makeup. Now it struck me, they were talking about Preethy.

I bloated with happiness seeing all the ladies eyes, ears and body turned towards me for the juicy gossip. I have all the show cards now.

“My husband got a special bonus. We used it to get new car. He wanted a blue color car, but the children and I went for a red one” I said with a triumphant tone.

“Did you exchange your old car?” Do you have a CD player or radio? Did you get remote control with it?” questions started pouring and I answered them happily.

Sailaja, who has been waiting patiently until now, said “and the model?”

Most of them didn’t know about Preethy. Looks like only Sailaja and Neera saw her.

Intentionally, I talked about the car first, keeping the juicy stuff for the end. With everyone’s 100% attention on me, I told them about Preethy. I talked about how she got the apartment, Mr. and Mrs. Ranganathan’s eagerness to give the apartment to her. But told very little about Preethy’s personal details. I don’t want to give all the information at one time. Everyone had many questions, but got few answers from me.

“You should have seen her top. It was so transparent. I can see her whole bra clearly” commented Neeraja.

“If one has a good body, why hide it, besides she is single” commented Sailaja winking at me.
Neeraja’s face became red. She made this exact comment in the past when Sailaja had pointed out that Neeraja’s jeans might be little too tight.

Sailaja and Neeraja are of the same age. Both are housewives with higher degrees. Neeraja has a 4 year old son whereas Sailaja has a 5 year old daughter and a 2 year old son. Neeraja, despite motherhood, maintains her perfect figure and still looks like a college girl, whereas Sailaja became chubby. Cannot say fat, but after two kids she does not have a very good figure like Neeraja. But Sailaja has a cute dimple on her cheeks which makes her very attractive when she smiles. There is a small scale rivalry between Neeraja and Sailaja. It is not in the open, but at every available chance they give zaps to each other.

Before this zapping turns ugly, people decided to break the meeting. Everyone started walking away. I turned to say bye to Maami. She just nodded.

Some thing was not right I thought as I walked away. I was not happy with Maami’s nod. What happened to her usual smile? Was she jealous that I was the center of attention at this meeting? Was she upset that I didn’t tell her the information before I gave it to others? Many questions clouded my head. I went to her with a good intention of telling her everything but she started of with Raghavan and I never got to talk. Besides, why should she be told everything first. Sometimes she acts as if she is our Queen and we her subjects. Anyway, I didn’t do anything intentional to upset her. Just because she is older doesn’t mean that she can be our boss.

It was time to pick up the children.

Chapter 9

Being Sunday, my kids and husband were at home. They were all absorbed in watching cricket. Soon it would be tea-time. I was in the kitchen preparing pakodas for them when the door bell rang and my young one yelled from the living room,” Milkman, Amma”.

The milkman gave me a big smile and asked “Does the top apartment want milk?”

I replied “As soon as I find out I will let you know”.

The milkman delivers milk packets to everyone in this complex. He wants to deliver milk to Preethy’s apartment too. I didn’t want to tell him that Preethy was not in town. Over the years, I had learned that it was not very safe to inform outsiders that the apartment is locked. I proceeded to make tea and snacks for kids.

The milkman has been delivering milk for me for many years. My day usually starts with boiling milk. I always liked fresh milk. Some how boiling milk first thing in the morning seems very auspicious to me. Our next door neighbor, Mohan, gets very irritated with my milk cooker’s whistle early in the morning. He tries to persuade me to boil milk once every 2 or 3 days.

He says: “In those days, when there was no fridge, people used to boil milk everyday. Or two times a day. Now you can boil once every 2 or 3 days and save time and energy”.

Sailaja agrees with him. Sailaja’s husband is in the IT industry and she had lived in the US for a couple of years. She told me how they used to buy milk in cans and used it for a week. Now in India, she does the same, she boils 3 or 4 liters of milk once every 3 days. Tell me about the next white revolution!

As I mixed the flour with onions and chilies, I started thinking about Preethy. It was almost 10 days since she left. Two weeks ago when I was standing in front of the gate selecting vegetables from the vendor’s cart, Sailaja had joined me. I don’t like her to be around me when I buy vegetables. In fact, I want none of the IT employees wives near me when I buy veggies- they never bargain.

“What will we gain by reducing the prices by a rupee or two? At the most one may save 10 or 20 rupees, but that money means a lot for the vegetable man” all the IT wives would say.

Of course, 10 or 20 Rupees a day is not a lot, but 10 or 20 Rupees for 30 days adds up to Rs.300 or Rs. 600. Anyway, my husband is not an IT personnel. He is not minting money like their husbands do. I was hoping that Sailaja would finish her purchase and leave so that I can haggle with the vegetable man.

Suddenly, a strong perfume surrounded me. Seconds later Preethy was next to me.

“Good morning Bhaabhi! Hmmm! I like ladies finger fry” Preethy said while looking at the ladies fingers (okra) in my basket.

“How are you? Everything ok?” I asked.

“I am quite settled. Thanks for all the help”.

Then she pushed her house keys into my hand and said: “Treat it like your house. I am going to Mumbai and will be back in a week”.

Before I could say anything she turned me around and gave a hug. And she walked to her call taxi. For a minute, I thought I saw a desperate look in her eyes. May be I was imagining. She seems to have everything going for her.

I turned to Sailaja and said “Sorry it was too quick. I didn’t get a chance to introduce her”.

“It is ok. I noticed. May be some other time. But it better be before introducing her to the complex beauty Neeraja” she replied with a wink and smile.

We both laughed.

Ding dong, the doorbell rang again, and it brought me back to this world. I asked the kids to get the door. I better give the first set of pakodas to the kids before they become cold.

And my thoughts drifted back to Preethy. Even after 2 weeks, there was no sign of Preethy. She didn’t call. Should I be worried? I am not her guardian. Is she ok? She said she travels a lot. May be she went to some other place. The look she gave when she hugged me- I was not able to forget it. Too many thoughts, too many questions.

While they were attacking the first set of pakodas, I was in the kitchen cooking some more. I heard some commotion in the living room. I didn’t pay much attention. Sometimes I just want to close the kitchen door so that I don’t have to hear their screams. But it won’t help, it was quite normal whenever there is a cricket match on TV. My usually quite husband becomes worse than my kids. I understand the game, but I don’t understand why people have to be so crazy about it. If you ask me, the situation in most of the houses in India is same. Same screams, growls from each apartment.  I think cricket is the dominant religion in India.

I went to the living room to get a pair of scissors. I saw a head with long hair lying on the floor and watching TV along with my sons. First I thought it must be Sailaja’s daughter. She sometimes hangs out with my kids. While I was looking for the scissors in the cupboard, suddenly next to me was Preethy.

She hugged and said “Hi bhaabi”.

So it was Preethy with the kids on the floor.

“When did you come?” I asked her with a very surprised look.

“15 minutes back.”

That might the reason for the commotion that I heard a few minutes back. Before she could say anything, my sons screamed “Preethy akka come on. Sachin is batting”.

She hesitated. My younger one was right next to her, pulling her hand to join them. Before I could say anything, she was back with them on the floor and all of them entered the world of cricket.

When I placed the next set of pakodas on the coffee table, I watched my family and Preethy. They looked more like 4 kids having fun. I didn’t want to break their fun. I went back to my cooking.

Somehow I felt good to see Preethy. I hardly knew this girl but she seems to belong in our family. I looked at the ladies-fingers in the fridge and remembered her saying she likes them. So I decided to make a fry for her.

By the time my cooking finished, the cricket match had finished too. Looks like the Indian team won. There were screams from all the apartments in our complex and the next complexes. Some IT bachelors live in the next complex. They always come on to the road to dance and light fireworks whenever the Indian team wins. Preethy and the kids ran to the balcony to watch them.

I straightened the cushions and chairs in the living room and told my kids to wash their hands to start dinner.

“I will see you tomorrow” I heard Preethy telling kids.

“Have dinner first” I said to Preethy as I walked up to her.

She didn’t argue or protest.

“Thanks bhaabhi. Actually I am very hungry”.

She helped me and kids set the table and my dear husband joined us for dinner.

“Oh! ladies finger fry. Just like my mother used to make” exclaimed Preethy like a kid.

Every time we eat, my sons praise my cooking at least 10 times. Today, Preethy joined them. So the whole conversation was around my cooking.

Even though my husband is polite to everyone, he is not very comfortable with a guest in our house. So I invite guests only after discussing it with him first. Today, I didn’t ask him if Preethy could join us. I gave a couple of nervous looks towards him. Looks like he had no objection to her joining us for dinner. He seemed calm. He didn’t talk much but politely answered her questions about his job and inquired about her job which itself was a lot. I sensed that everyone in my family kind of felt that Preethy was one of us. She fit in so well. We were acting and behaving as if she was our family member.

After dinner, my husband always goes for a walk. Kids and Preethy gathered on our bed and started playing cards, and I joined them. After a few games, I went to the kitchen to clean up. While in the kitchen I heard the front door. My husband had returned from his walk.

When I came out of the kitchen after finishing up all the work, I saw lights in the kid’s room were on, but the whole apartment was very quite. I walked in to check their room. I was perplexed to see my husband on my elder son’s bed reading a book.

“Why are you sleeping here?” I asked him with a confused look.

”Where can I sleep?” he replied nonchalantly.

I didn’t answer, and walked to our bedroom. Preethy and the kids were fast asleep on our bed with playing cards all over the floor. I didn’t have the heart to disturb them. I guessed that my husband felt the same and that was why he had settled into our kid’s beds. I turned off the lights and covered all of them with bed sheets and went to occupy my younger son’s bed.

“They must be tired” said my husband as he put the book and his glasses down.

By the time I turned off the light and settled into bed, I heard his deep breathing. One thing good about cricket is that all the screaming tires them down and they go to bed very easily!