On a morning in July when it had just stopped raining and everyone in the chawl was preparing for a day of humid heat, a part of the roof above the left corridor caved in. It was a Tuesday. No one died or got injured. Tribhuvan Lal thanked Shree Krishna for saving him the overheads that would have been accounted to him if someone had been caught under the roof.

It was still called Bombay when Tribhuvan’s grandfather had constructed the chawl. Built in the shape of a horseshoe on what became one of the busiest chowks off LBS road, Nirmala Bhavan soon became a landmark. Eighty years on an ever-widening road had taken a toll on the edifice. Very few original tenants now resided on the four floors; most had sublet their twelve-by-twelve feet rooms and spread out in the city into relative prosperity.

By noon the dispersed tenants arrived back in the courtyard of the chawl. They hoped that Tribhuvan Lal would visit the place, and that the broken roof could be used as an opportunity to persuade the man to put Nirmala Bhavan under redevelopment. They all had a stake in it. A developer had already promised a decent return with guaranteed flats for every tenant. Tribhuvan Lal wanted more and was stalling the deal.

Vipul Shah came back to the chawl too. He had retired comfortably and the small room of the chawl was not a big part of his inheritance. He came back for other reasons. One was the boredom that retirement brought, and another was Jyoshna. Jyoshna Mehta, the widow of Pankaj Mehta, who had lived two rooms away from Vipul’s family. Jyoshna, the chawl beauty who had made every other husband, newly married or experienced, envious of her husband.

Vipul remembered the parenthesis that formed around the corner of her lips when she smiled or even when she pursed them feigning anger. Every morning, a few strands of her hair would fall on her beautiful face and she would tuck them behind her ear in the most innocuous way as she hurriedly stuffed a lunch box for Pankaj. Her nylon sari would meander on her waist to reveal a small black mole just below her ribs, as she waved her husband goodbye across the chawl’s courtyard, and she would, a moment or two later, pull her sari down in an unconscious way so that the mole was hidden from view. And then she would rush back into their room to begin her daily chores. Vipul loved playing a voyeur to this domestic ritual.

A couple of years before Jyoshna came to the chawl, Vipul was married off to a shy girl from Surat, a marriage arranged by his ever-practical father, who felt that Vipul would learn the responsibility of running a wholesale grocery business if he was coupled with the right woman. Vipul was kind and indifferent to his wife.

Vipul scanned the crowd of tenants for Jyoshna’s face. Aware that he was reduced from the sharp, tall youth clad in polyester shirt and pants, to a greying man in a starched white jabha and cotton trousers, Vipul realised that the face he was searching for must have changed too. He was shy to make enquiries about her family directly, and so pretended interest in all the tenants who had shifted out like them. Joshi Uncle, who used to stay on the fourth floor, next to the one-room kitchen with the caved roof, and who had now parked a young Bengali couple on rent there, was the most animated of the lot. He was waving his stick and spewing spittle as he fought with Tribhuvan Lal. Others urged him on.

Vipul detached himself from the loud crowd in the middle of the courtyard. As anticipated by everyone, it had turned out to be a hot day, clouds stifling any breath of breeze. Vipul could feel the starch melting from his white jabha, sticking uncomfortably to his skin. He stepped towards the shade of the common verandah, but stumbled on the last three steps. He saw that the lady fanning herself at the far end was Jyoshna. He mumbled a curse at himself, straightened his collar with its residual starch, and half-smiled at her, wary that she might not recognise him and not return the smile.

She smiled back and stepped towards him.

Jyoshna saw that Vipul had aged gracefully as she had anticipated. She had often thought of the way his shirts tightened around his shoulder blades, taut with crisp smartness, and what it would feel like to press her palms on them. Now, the white jabha stretched on his back just like in those days, the height still prominent in his stride, his innocent smile. It was the same smile that she had assumed to be a window into his modest nature. His hair had thinned a little, and his moustache was broader, but that only added to his stately appearance.

‘How are you? It’s been so long since we saw you last.’

‘Yes. Yes. All good. I am as fine as this age allows. Yes. It has been a long time since I visited Nirmala Bhavan.’

Jyoshna noticed that he was still recovering from the embarrassment of the stumble. She clasped at words, but she could not say anything more.

He realised that it was his turn to ask her the same customary question. ‘How are you?’

‘I have been well. I am staying with my son now. In Chembur. He is a Chartered Accountant, and doing well.’

‘Good to hear that your dedication to his studies paid off. We also moved to Sion a year after you left the chawl.’

‘Yes. Joshi Aunty told me. After Arya’s father left us, it was a difficult time. I was glad to move out, hoping a new place would help us cope with his loss. Fortunately, Krishna Shreeji has been kind. Arya did well in his exams.’

These days, she found it difficult to explain to people how drastically her life had twisted out of shape after she had lost her husband to a sudden heart attack. He had only been 45. His was the kind of death that reminded people of their mortality, the kind where the wife was left numb because she had not prepared how to react like a widow. Realising that Vipul had been a witness to her tragedy then, she recollected herself. She did not need to explain herself to an old neighbour. He knew everything.

The crowd in the courtyard had dispersed, broken into smaller groups. Voices were calmer. One group of women came to speak to Jyoshna, glancing at the awkwardness in Vipul’s stance. Jyoshna regretted the interruption, but she was compelled to join the women, and lost sight of Vipul. That evening, she asked Aarti, her friend from the chawl, to add her to the WhatsApp group for tenants. Her son was already in the group, but he had gotten busier with his work, and neglectful of their stake at Nirmala Bhavan. This seemed a good enough pretext to join the group.

By the next morning, she had scouted out Vipul’s contact number. She did not know what to do next. Suddenly, she felt embarrassed about having initiated the conversation with him the previous day and wondered what he would think of her. It made her feel silly to think that the hesitation from him might not have been because of the stumble on the stairs, but because he had forgotten her. She recalled how he had always been quiet, even when his pregnant wife wished him goodbye when he left for the grocery shop every morning.

She had seen a small spring in his steps when the baby was born, but it soon disappeared. He began staying away from home, and returning late from the shop, to avoid the cacophony of a complete family in that little room. Even in those days, she had often wanted to step out of their own room at night, and speak to him, console him that he was not alone. Tell him that she understood him, that she understood why he felt aloof from the wife and the baby, that it was natural to feel distant and alone in a crowded and loving household. She had often imagined conversations with him, placing imaginary words on his tongue.

She bit her lip while preparing her son’s lunch box, recalling the awkward exchange from the day before. After all, it had been more than a decade since they had left Nirmala Bhavan. She resolved to be mindful of this when the tenants decided to meet at the Udupi restaurant outside Ghatkopar station. The plan was to prepare a full-proof attack on Tribhuvan Lal’s arrogance.

*

On the day of the meeting, the tenants came armed with competitive market rates and alternative offers that were closer to Tribhuvan Lal’s demand. They stressed the real danger: of losing out completely if Nirmala Bhavan collapsed.

Vipul was glad that Jyoshna had replaced her son in the tenants’ meetings. She had gained some weight but had not lost the grace with which she had walked the corridors of the chawl. Nylon sarees had been replaced by a cotton wardrobe, more suitable to her improved station in life. Vipul smiled to himself; she had not really changed. She wore her hair in a loose bun, strands tucked behind the ear in the same innocuous style, and laughed guilelessly. He did not know what he wanted to tell her, but knew they must speak.

Their age was an immunity against ridicule. This time he was the one to initiate the conversation, after the formal meeting was completed and the angry group had broken down to simmer in twos and threes, paired mostly according to the direction of their return home.

‘So, Jyoshna ji, you have taken over Arya in this battle?’

‘Yes. Just like you. Why disturb the kids on their busy weekdays? What do we oldies have to do anyways?’

‘Arre. Don’t make us sound like we survive on pills. I can still walk the entire length of the Marine Drive in one stretch.’

Jyoshna smiled. Vipul pushed through.

‘But yes, on a serious note, you are right. Hetal is married and stays in Borivali. Veer and his wife look after the business. I don’t have a lot to do. Especially after Veer’s mother left us. I like to keep out of the kids’ way. Why become a burden to them?’

‘I agree. But it must be tough on them too.’

‘Yes, that is true. At least she saw Hetal’s wedding. She was happy to have settled her daughter well. She never wanted Hetal to marry into a business family. Our jamai works in SBI. My wife was calm when her time came.’

‘So, she was not present during Veer’s wedding?’

‘No. Shree Krishna destined it so.’

Vipul did not want to speak of his wife anymore. But he did not know what else he could speak of. It was a game of disquiet, each taking turns for courage. They had walked out of the restaurant with the others and were near the rickshaw stand. He was thankful when she broke the silence.

‘So, Mr. Shah, can you really walk the whole stretch of Marine Drive?’

Vipul looked up with a grin. Dusk and dust mingled over Ghatkopar railway station. The brightness of their smiles matched each other’s. Headlights from rickshaws, passing cars, shop fronts, all glittered and resisted the looming darkness, even as the weary crowd pushed its way through the traffic.

Jyoshna Mehta had managed to thaw the awkwardness with her charm; he was grateful to her. On his ride back to Sion that evening, as the rickshaw hustled through traffic, racing on turns and lurching dangerously close to the giant red BEST buses, Vipul imagined how it would have been if he had been the one married to Jyoshna. How she would have packed a tiffin for him as he prepared to leave for their general store, and how he would have taken her for long walks on the Juhu beach. How he would stroke the mole on her waist before pulling her in for a kiss. He thought how different it would have been if they had had children together, how she would have tutored them, and how he would strive hard to build a better life for them. Blurry scenes from the life at the chawl crossed his eyes, only this time Jyoshna was his, and he was happier.

Vipul slept well that night but woke earlier than usual the next morning. Veer’s wife was not up yet, and he did not want to disturb the household with his restlessness. He remained in bed and surfed through WhatsApp groups. Unable to resist the urge, he sent a ‘Jai Shree Krishna’ to Jyoshna.

She waited for a couple of minutes before responding to his message. It was easier to converse over chat, though both took time typing messages. She felt adolescent and giddy, moving her fingers over the cell’s keypad. Trying to the clutch the device like the teenagers in their society complex, protecting the screen from her son’s view, she tried to subdue her smile into nonchalance. She remembered feeling like this when her family members were applying henna on her hands, two days before her wedding, and teasing her about how she would rule her new household. She had felt a tingling on the cool henna-covered fingertips, and tapped her feet to ground her excitement.

Plans were made, and she felt a new toe-tingling excitement agreeing to join him for his Saturday stroll. He had promised to prove that he could walk from Churchgate station to Chowpatty sea-face without tiring. She was unclear what she wanted from this venture, but submitting to its novelty was a thrill.

*

The first few minutes outside the Churchgate station were tricky. Vipul and Jyoshna each tried to match their pace with the other. As soon as the sea breeze hit them, her sari’s pallu lifted and his crisp shirt lost some of its stiffness. They giggled like children. Soon their strides grew faster, as did the pace of their conversation.

They talked about their dead spouses. How both of them had coped with the loss, and the logistic adjustments they had made in their life to embrace the grief and give it a shape. Jyoshna had moved out of the chawl and focused on her son’s education. Vipul had receded from his family, staying out of home, going for long walks and having chai to break the monotony of the walks.

‘I remember you used to come home late after Veer was born. Did you go for walks even then?’

‘Yes’. Vipul was astounded that she had noticed this habit. She had noticed it, and remembered it. ‘I like walking. It keeps me calm, and helps me avoid think too much.’

Jyoshna looked to his face. She saw the smile dim. ‘One cannot hope for life to go one’s way always.’

Vipul did not meet his promise of the long walk. He also saw an opportunity for meeting again if they did not complete the promised stretch this time.

They met again the next Saturday.

They discovered they had many things to share: from their childhood and youth, anecdotes from their life when both were newly married; experiences about becoming parents, from their schooling to careers; the matrix of family expectations and the many lessons learnt. Each conversation reminded them of how their lives had paralleled each other’s, how they had lived across the banks of the same river, and the chawl had been the island on this stream.

‘Do you still pack the lunches? For your son?’

‘Yes,’ Jyoshna answered. ‘Why?’

‘There was a briskness with which you handled your day. As if each task was a ritual, to be done without thought’.

‘I don’t know how I felt then. It was just tiring, to be expected to do the same thing every day. I felt invisible sometimes.’

‘You were not invisible’. Vipul murmured, not having the nerve to say anything more aloud.

They both went quiet for a few seconds, and then laughed like school children do about a joke that should not reach the ears of a teacher.

It soon became a routine to walk this stretch of breezy Mumbai every Saturday evening. Often, they would plan to go for a movie or music recital, but the solace lay in this walk. Where the bustle around them allowed natural ease and unsheathed laughs, where it was easy to lose oneself next to the roaring waves. A companionship where there was still promise, not the closed doors engraved with their histories. They had found a way to walk this city again, like tourists. There was some hope left.

They would cup warm chai or sip on dripping ice lollies, never venturing into a restaurant or café. As if a closed space would lead to self-consciousness, making them alert to facts.

*

The rains had stopped and Mumbai was sweating under the October heat. Marine drive offered some respite with its sea breeze and wide promenades. Jyoshna and Vipul were holding ice-cream sandwiches between sticky fingers, and both waited for the other to finish eating before they could start talking again.

‘Does Arya know where you have been going every Saturday evening?’

‘He does not ask a lot of questions.’

‘Oh’, Vipul did not know whether he should pursue this strand of conversation.

‘Really, he is very busy. He is an attentive son. He fixes everything in the house. He has a cook, and a house help, who brings me everything I need. He listens to me if I ask for anything. But beyond that, he does not bother much.’

‘Does that make you feel bad?’

Jyoshna paused to find a correct answer. ‘It is not his fault really. What will he talk to me about? He is sincere in his gratitude and affection. But now, he wants to talk to people his own age. I am more worried about what will happen when he marries.’

‘Does he have someone in mind?’

‘I don’t think so. Even if he has a girlfriend, I don’t mind. I would be happy for him.’

‘Then? Why are you worried?’

‘I hope the girl and I get along. I am worried what would happen if the girl doesn’t like me. It would put Arya in a very difficult position.’

Vipul did not say anything. He was hoping that his silence would help her continue speaking.

‘I want him to be happy in marriage. That is the truest blessing one can pray for in this life.’

Vipul was compelled to add, ‘You are so right about that. I hope he finds happiness too.’

The heat got to Jyoshna, and suddenly her smile faded. She clasped her sweaty forehead and reached out a hand towards Vipul.

‘I am not feeling very well. I need to sit down.’ Vipul was alarmed and led her to the nearest restaurant.

It was a posh establishment, with glinting glasses, sparkling cutlery, and laminated menu cards. The round tables were covered with red chequered tablecloths and designer coasters to collect the condensation from chilled cocktail glasses. A few tables were occupied with young couples and small families. The manager immediately recognised the situation and led them to the . A waiter brought some cold water, and slowly Jyoshna regained her strength. She opened her eyes, and smiled assuredly towards Vipul.

As soon as she was better, Jyoshna realised that the incident must have thrown Vipul off. ‘I am better, don’t worry, Vipul.’

‘Are you sure? You gave me a real scare.’

‘Yes. Yes. I am feeling better.’

‘So? What do we do now? Should I book a cab for you?’

Jyoshna did not want to leave just yet. She was scared to get up, worried she might be unsteady on her feet. She also felt sorry for putting Vipul through this. She suggested they order some snacks. Vipul was nervous but he agreed, and Jyoshna picked up the menu card.

Sitting there, facing each other, they both smiled at the novelty of the situation. Vipul was cautious, observing Jyoshna for any sign of relapse. She placed the napkin on her lap with a certain deliberateness. He did not bother emulating her. The place demanded a sophistication that he knew was too late to adopt.

‘Vipul, should we get some quick starter? Then we can leave soon.’

‘Whatever you say.’

A waiter came over to Jyoshna and she placed an order. She turned back to Vipul with a smile.

She found this exciting, sitting across the table from him. She found the novelty of their situation amusing. It reminded her of those families, where couples were so comfortable with each other that they could sit in silence for hours. She felt that Vipul and she had been playing a part for some time, and the role imposed on her suited her.

The food arrived and the waiter served them. Jyoshna picked at her portion, like she had seen her son eat at weddings. Vipul leaned towards the table and took to his food with delight. He broke the pieces of paneer with the curved edge of a spoon and put them in his mouth with a quick jab, as if they would fall off his spoon if he didn’t. He spoke with his mouth full, gnashing the morsels loudly. ‘This is so good and warm. The paneer is so soft, must be fresh.’ He did not ask Jyoshna whether she wanted a second helping. He took the remaining pieces, along with the salad bits on the platter, and plonked them on his plate. He wiped away at a dribble of chutney on his jabha, and did not blink an eye over the stain it would leave.

Jyoshna let her fork drop as he wiped his dirty hands, first on the napkin and then tried rubbing the stickiness off on the tablecloth. He burped with a twinkle in his eye, a smirk that suggested he was happy they had come to this restaurant, forgetting what had brought them here. There was a fleck of green chutney on the wrinkled skin of his neck. Done with his food, he got up looking for the washbasin. Jyoshna rose from her unfinished plate of food. She hurriedly called for the bill. The waiter was surprised when she left all the change for him. Vipul had acquired his usual charm by the time she joined him at the entrance.

‘I think I am feeling fine enough to head back now. I should get a taxi.’

‘Okay. As you suggest. Please text when you reach home. You got me worried about your health.’

‘Please, don’t worry about anything. I am fine. Bye.’

Jyoshna got into the cab and rolled the windows up. She was not feeling her usual self. She lay her head back and closed her eyes. She opened them when the cab stopped and started back with halted jerks. The traffic near Juhu beach compelled her to roll down the windows. Hordes were crowding the chowpatty, savouring the street food. She plucked the water bottle from her bag for a quick sip to suppress the nausea.

As the cab lurched forward, she remembered how Arya’s father would wash his hands in the steel dinner plate and push it forward. How she would have to throw the dirty water out and wash the sticky plates. The way he wiped his dirty hands and mouth on the napkin, leaving yellow stains that would refuse to come out despite her strenuous washes. There was something ghoulish about men eating, backs reduced from their proud stretch into a hungry hunch, fingers grappling morsels of food into wide open mouths, and the ugly sounds that teeth made with the pleasure of each bite.

Vipul was slightly stumped by her abrupt departure, but he put it down to her health. When he texted to confirm their walk next Saturday, Jyoshna replied that her son had advised not to venture out while the October heat persisted. She stopped replying to his messages, the blue ticks left unanswered and one-sided on their chat window. He noticed that Jyoshna exited the WhatsApp group when the tenants decided to meet again before New Year’s Eve. She urged Arya to take more responsibility in the matter, and advised him about not missing the meetings if he cared about his stake in Nirmala Bhavan.

Vipul could not muster the courage to approach Arya directly at the next meeting, but stayed within earshot in case Jyoshna’s name came up in some conversation. When Aarti asked Arya about Jyoshna’s health, he said she was perfectly fine. Amidst the sounds of haggling tenants, honking rickshaws, bus horns, and a loud whistle of the pressure cooker in a kitchen somewhere, Vipul heard him clearly. He turned away from the crowd and walked out of the chawl’s courtyard.

About the Author: Kinjal Sethia

Kinjal Sethia is a writer based in Pune. Her work has been published in nether Quarterly, Usawa Literary Review, EKL Review, Gulmohar Quarterly, Samyukta Fiction among other places. She is the Associate Editor for Fiction at The Bombay Literary Magazine.

Share This Story, Choose Your Platform!