The Landlord - Part 1

“Good morning, Mehta saab!”
The cheery voice could belong to none other than Krishnamurthy.

“Good morning, Krishnamurthy ji!”
I could never bring myself to address him in any other way, even though his name stuck in my mouth like a wad of chewed pan. We were both early morning walkers – he in his whitish yellow dhoti, a full sleeved green sweater, and a brown, slightly worn out balaclava, or “monkey topi”, as he called it. His Adidas shoes looked incongrous with the rest of his attire, but it matched the early morning dress-code quite perfectly. His face peeped out from within the woollen cap, his eyes brown and sharp, almost bird-like, the religious marks adorning his face like a warrior prince. His gait was bird-like too, with short and brisk steps, his hands locked together behind his small and wiry frame.

“So, when did you come back from the States?”
We matched step to step, as we marched around the sleepy suburb, still wrapped up in a cold blanket of fine mist.

“Oh! I just came back 2 days ago. Nowadays, it takes more time, you know, to get over the jet lag”.

I was slowly settling back into my routine after a six-month long trip to my son’s house in Boston. It’s always a little unsettling to return to a world that seems both strange and familiar at once. Everything seems to have changed, but you cannot place your finger on what has changed exactly. Perhaps nothing has really changed and it’s just that you see things more clearly, as if you have gotten yourself new glasses. The body undergoes strange withdrawal pangs – you are a stranger in your own home. My wife, on the other hand, did not seem to have any such problems. Maybe it was that she had so many things to keep her occupied: when at Boston, she was busy looking after her grand-son; now, at home, she was getting things back on track – the milk, the maid, the paper, the dhobi… As for me, I missed my early morning walk, chit-chatting with my cronies, and going to the club every evening when I was there. And now that I was here, I was missing the cleanliness, the cars, the tools and gardening shows…

Still, it was easy to slip back into the crisp morning, with Krishnamurthy occasionally chattering by my side, just enjoying the stealthiness of the tentative sun creeping into the clean, cool air.

“So, how is your son doing in New York?” I asked him.

“Oh! He is doing fine – by God’s grace!”

Krishnamurthy’s son and my son had both studied in the same school. We had developed a nodding acquaintance right then, which somewhat deepened when we became morning walkers quite some time later, and discovered that both our sons were in America. Krishnamurthy hated going there – he missed his poojas and temples too much. Of late, he had begun to send his wife off on her own, and was happy to enjoy his “second bachelorhood”, as he termed it. I had been only once to his house, and I fled quickly from the religious fervour it reeked with: the innumerable pictures of various deities, the overpowering pot-pourri of incense, flower, and camphor smells. As a reciprocal courtesy, I had invited him over for some tea, and he was equally uneasy in my plush-sofa-liquor-cabinet-modern-art living room. We diplomatically avoided house-calls after that.

“Your upper floor still occupied?” I asked him with a laugh.

Krishnamurthy lived in the ground floor of a two-storeyed house. He was always having trouble getting the right type of tenants. It didn’t help that he was extremely choosy. He started off with the criteria that they be non-smokers and vegetarians. He then began refining the requirements, and by the time he was done, it didn’t seem likely that he would find any tenants at all. The last casualty in the procession of tenants were 2 boys working in a software company. He evicted them because they had thrown a party which went on beyond 10pm. After much searching, he managed to zero in on a young couple, who appeared very quiet, and were ready to pay the rather high rent he was asking. They had been staying there for at least a month and a half, without any incident, when I had left for the US.

“Oh! Yes, yes! They are still very much there! Actually, only the husband is there - the wife was has gone to her mother’s house – delivery, you know!” He glanced at me with a small grin.

“Oh! That’s good news! When is the delivery due?”

“Must be some time now –after you left, you know, maybe one week after that – she found out, and she wanted to go to mother’s house. You see, after all, husband is working day and night, who will take care of poor girl? You see, they must look after health at such a delicate time!”

“Yes, it is difficult nowadays for the girl – all alone in a new place. Earlier joint families were good for support, but nowadays everyone wants to be on their own”.

“Luckily, her brother had come for an interview here. He took her home. He got the job here only now. So he’s staying also – but I asked for little more rent – you see, how can I allow? Next, some one else will come, and they will allow them also to stay. Anyway, they agreed to pay the extra, so it was good for me!”

Krishnamurthy chuckled, and I shook my head in disbelief. Would he start charging extra rent when the baby came?

We had come to the end of our walk, so we parted to go our own ways.

It was a few days later that I met Krishnamurthy again. I had come down with a slight cold, perhaps due to the change in the weather, or more likely, the pollution, so I had skipped my morning walk for a couple of days. I could see he was a bit pensive, and obviously had something on his mind.

When we began walking, he immediately came straight to the point.

“You know Mehta saab, my tenants?”

“Yes – what about them?”


“Something is not right!”

“Why? I thought you said everything was fine?”

“I know, I know! But, yesterday, I was going to my doctor. You know, Dr. Kalyan. He lives quite far off – it takes minimum 1 hour by bus. And you know who I saw on that bus?”

“Who?” I was curious now.

“I saw the wife, Mehta saab! She got up in between and got off before I got down.”

“Really, Krishnamurthy ji? Are you sure it was not someone else?”

“I’m sure, Mehta saab, very sure! I saw her very clearly. I was sitting near the window seat, you see. So I can see people who are getting into the bus from front very well, and when she got down also, I could see her walking for some time!”

“Er…if you’re so sure, then maybe you’re right! But then this is very odd!”

“Mehta saab, what is more odd is”, he lowered his voice to a consipiratorial whisper, “that she didn’t look … pregnant. You know?” He indicated a pregnant stomach with his hand.

“What?! But…maybe she already had the baby?”

There was a long pause as Krishnamurthy evaluated this possibility. Finally, he shook his head.

“I don’t think so – she didn’t look like that, somehow”.

“So, what are you going to do?” I broke the silence that had pushed its way up between us.

Krishnamurthy cleared his throat.

“Mehta saab, if it isn’t too much trouble, can you come with me today? I want to find out what is happening.”

“But, Krishnamurthy ji, how do you know she will come on the bus again?”

“I think she will, Mehta saab. I saw the conductor give her a ticket without her asking. Normally, they will do that for a regular, see? That’s why I am thinking – she will most probably come today also”.

“You do have a point,” I conceded. “What time is the bus?”

“It starts from here at 8.30am.”

That gave me barely an hour – I would have to skip my leisurely morning schedule. I felt a tingle of adrenalin uncurling within me.

“Right-o Krishnamurthy ji! I will be at the bus-stop at 8.20 exactly!”

I hurried off, excited and nervous at the same time.

To Be Continued

Smooth Operator

I paused in the shower, certain I had heard knocking at the door. The hot water drummed a sweet tattoo on my smooth chest, as I stood blinking the dripping water out of my eyes. There! I heard it again! Who could it possibly be, at this late hour? I turned off the shower, grabbed the soft and fluffy terry towel, and wound it around my waist after a swift whisk over the rest of my body. I padded wetly to the door and peered thru the peephole. A bolt of lightning hit me – what the hell was she doing here, at this time?

I opened the door, and she bounced inside the room. Her plain face was radiant, and she looked ready to burst with happiness.

“I did it! I did it!” She clasped her hands around my neck, waltzing thru the room madly, dragging me along like a broken doll.

“What…wait….what….?”

She stopped long enough to give me a tight hug, before jumping up and down again like an excited child.

“I did it – finally – I can’t believe it – but yes, yes! I did it!”

“Wait – hold on a sec – what did you do?” I managed to wriggle out of her grasp, and swung her around to face me.

“Oh! I did it, Dev!” She hugged me close, her hands caressing my damp back. “I’ve left my husband! I left a note for Bala – he won’t be back till the weekend from Singapore, anyway…I just had to – I couldn’t live without you any more!”

“What?” My tone was sharper than intended, but it was lost on her.

She perched up happily on the back of the sofa, her legs swinging in the air.

“I’ve never felt so free before, Dev! I love you more than anything in this world! I’ve been struggling with this decision for such a long time – now I feel so light and free! I’ve done it! Now, we can be together forever!”

Every word she uttered came down like a crucifying hammer. The walls seemed to spin around me. WTF!! Of all the things, I had never expected this! What goddamn notion had possessed her to do this? This was not in the script at all…

*********
That my good looks and charming manners were going to be my ticket to the good life, was evident to me right from the time my elder sister’s gal pals bestowed small rewards for my kisses. I earned a reputation as a good kisser, and developed quite a knack for picking on the dowdy and forlorn girls, which guaranteed bigger and better rewards. A natural talent is most useful when it serves you as your bread-winner. I was blessed in that regard.

I graduated into the Ivy League of the Three Bags Full, as I termed it, in a rare fit of spontaneous humor.

One for the master, one for the dame
And one for the little boy who lives with the dame

I moved from city to city, frequenting the bars and clubs and other hotspots of the rich and famous. Invariably, a few lonely hens would come home to roost, and soon, they would be eating out of my hands. And keeping my pockets full.

I developed a taste for all the fine things in life – the clothes, the shoes, the wines, the music… I operated mostly by cash, and had no bank accounts anywhere save at one bank in my adopted home town, where I deposited my earnings every time I returned, in between my “projects”. I was a businessman to them, and so no questions were ever asked.

I had a valuable collection of bracelets, chains, and rings, which always came in good stead during lean times, when pawned at the omnipresent and discreetly trustworthy pawnshops. My most prized possession was my watch collection, which included my favourite – the 18kt yellow gold and stainless steel Rolex – a farewell gift from a filthy-rich pheasant chick.

I made very few mistakes; I never got emotionally involved with my subjects, kept myself physically fit and toned, tipped the maids and doormen generously, and worked hard at keeping my subjects happy. It wasn’t very difficult actually – they were so lonely and deprived of love and sex that even with half the work I put in, I could have gotten along quite well. But a master craftsman is never content with just getting the work done – it has to be done well, and with panache. What about happiness – you may ask. Was I ever happy? Of course I was happy – a master craftsman is happiest when he is practising his craft!

The last affair had not worked out that well for me. I apparently was losing some of my touch, because I managed to choose a rather stupid woman, whose guilty conscience forced her to come clean with her husband. Unfortunately for me, he was a political bigwig, who lost no hesitation in setting his thugs on my trail. I fled the place rather hurriedly, and after wandering about a bit, settled down into this rather nice suburb.

I began frequenting the club. It was a large, whitish building, with a canopy of trees making the grounds cool and green. Of course, I gained entrance through my usual route of bribing and charming the local staff.

It was a rather warm summer morning when I saw her walk in the door. She was wearing a white dress that sat awkwardly on her, and she knew it. Her posture was defensive, and her gaze was restricted to her immediate vicinity. So, she was rather startled when I sat down next to her.

“Hot day, isn’t it?”

She dumbly nodded.

“Good you’re wearing white – that should definitely cool you down!” I winked at her, and she started like a bolting rabbit.

“Come here often?” I asked.

Not waiting for her to reply, I continued. “I just moved here, you know. It’s so difficult to make friends nowadays. By the way, my name’s Dev”. I extended my hand to her.

Her clasp was unexpectedly firm. “I’m Sonali”. Her reply was low.

“Wow! Pretty name!” I watched her closely, and the shy smile that momentarily appeared assured me that the compliment didn’t go unnoticed.

I drained the rest of my drink, and then made a show of checking the time.

“Gosh! I gotta get going now – got a meeting to attend! Hope to catch you sometime later, Sonali?” I paused after I stood up, pushing my chair back. “Deal?”

She smiled a genuine smile, and nodded.

The next steps were easy enough. More frequent bumping into each other at different places – at the club, at the stores, at traffic lights….a casual invite for coffee, then lunch, then a couple of dinner dates, then dinner at my place…the progress was reassuringly steady. The seduction was my finest set piece, complete with candles, wine, and music. She was completely and surprisingly different in bed. And my income graph began to satisfyingly follow the crest of our relationship.

Once we had got into the comfortable routine of when, where, and how, I began to mull over the details of our breakup. I knew her husband was out of town most of the time, but it was usually on short trips. I needed for him to go out on a longer trip, so that I could make my clean break. After my previous experience, I didn’t want to take any chances.

*********

“Dev! Why are you so quiet? What are you thinking?” Her voice brought me down to earth with a thud.

“Honey, you don’t look happy – aren’t you happy that I left Bala for you?” She looked hurt. I desperately needed time to think – I needed to study my cards again.

“No, no Sonu!” I responded automatically. “It’s just that you took me by surprise! Just hold on – let me finish my shower – make yourself comfortable meanwhile”.

“Should I join you?” Her hand on my towel was teasing.

“No, no!” I replied forcefully, and noticing her face twist again, I said more gently. “I’m almost done - I’ll just take a minute, darling”. I gave her a quick kiss, and turned away.

I’m not sure how long I stayed in the shower. Thoughts were swirling around in utter confusion – I had never faced this sort of situation before! I went over everything we had said or done – nope – I had never hinted to her to leave her husband, nor had she given me any indication that she was taking this relationship so seriously. I became more and more convinced that I had to do something to get her back to her husband. And I had to vamoose from the scene fast. I needed space and time to think out my strategy. But for the time being, I had to put up my lover-boy face. By tomorrow, I could surely come up with something!

Confident now of handling the situation, I toweled myself thoroughly, put on a pair of shorts, and stepped out.

She was sprawled out on my couch, wearing a silk negligee, drinks ready on the table.

“What took you so long?” She pouted, as I bent to kiss her.

“Getting ready for you, darling!” I slid down beside her.

She handed me my drink, and we clinked glasses.

“To us!” She smiled happily.

“To us!” I repeated, raising my glass.

*********

When I woke up, it was already late in the morning. The sun slanted in, making the room quite warm. As I turned, a letter fluttered across the bed. Sonali! I sat up, suddenly remembering the crisis of the previous night.

I opened it and read the contents:

Dear Dev,
It was such a pleasure meeting a smooth operator like you! Believe me, the pleasure was all mine!
Lotsa love (you sure will need it!)
Sonali


I read it again slowly. It didn’t seem to make any sense. Slowly, it dawned on me that something was amiss. I looked around, and it hit me like a ton of bricks. My place was absolutely clean – clean and very, very empty!