Page 113 of Made in Mumbai

“My real name is Gautam Saraswat.”

Her head turned.

“I come from a small village in Himachal Pradesh called Sarahan. My mother didn’t know my father’s name. Or if she did, she never revealed. I don’t remember how my mother raised me, because as far back as I can remember, she was always under some or the other intoxication. Powders, herbs, alcohol. We lived in an abandoned hut that nobody had claimed in the village, and the neighbouring Mausi fed me, healed me if I was sick, sent me to school if my mother was unable to. That was 3-4 times a week. When I was 9, my mother got an offer by the Thakur Saab of our village. To take me as a playmate for his son. In exchange I would be fed, schooled and given a roof. My mother would get money. She sold me. But I was happy, the mansion was a better place, even though I had a slave’s life. I enjoyed studying, I got to experience the world with Thakur Saab’s son on his TV, music systems, computers, games. That’s how my English was as good as it was. He was a friend, but not a friend, because he would order me and I would serve. He would eat, and then I would eat. If something special was made or ordered for him, I would get whatever was left, and eat the rest from what was made for the servants. We studied together with his home tutors, and I would do his homework. That life was good until drugs were found in his room, and he threw the blame on me. It was so easy for him. And it was easier for Thakur Saab to believe because my mother was an addict. I was beaten up and thrown out of the mansion. I went back to my hut, but my mother refused to take me. She said go and earn money. Only then come back. There is no leftover to fill your stomach in my house. I was 17. I couldn’t even complete my 12th Boards, didn’t have any of my 10th Board certificates. Nothing was there for me. I was on the highway, walking down the road, doing nothing, not even thinking what to do next when Kumar bhai’s truck almost ran me down. He offered me a cleaner’s job. I agreed. And two years later, his truck broke down in Mumbai.”

Silence. The whistle of the sea wind. Peace. Finally, peace.

Her hand cupped his cheek — “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you deserve to know before we get married.”

Maya smiled, reaching up to kiss his jaw. “It would not matter to me, either way. It’s you. For me, it’s only you, Gautam.”

He nodded.

Her hand squeezed his jaw — “I always knew you were strong. Now I know you are a full-on hero.”

He scoffed, cupping her hand that held his cheek. His eyes met hers — “My mother died a few weeks ago. She left me a letter with Kumar bhai.”

Her brows drew together. “That was what was in your hand yesterday…? I am so sorry, G, I didn’t know…”

He shook his head, “How would you? I never told you. I never told anyone.”

“What was there in that letter?”

“That even if I came, there was no food for me in her house.”

She went silent.

“That letter disturbed me. Everything came flooding back, reminding me why I had never wanted a family. Reminding me why I wasn’t good enough, by nature or nurture… for the two of you. I panicked. And I am so sorry I put you through this for one whole night because this wasmyproblem, I should have solved it in my head before I involved you both…”

“Oye,” she pulled him closer. “If my problems are yours, yours are mine too. Do you understand?”

He swallowed.

“I said, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Just next time… do it with a little less drama,” she squinted. “I am a serious, responsible adult. I cannot deal with your dramas all our life.”

He snorted. And they again turned to the sea, quiet, locked in each other’s arms.

“G?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you meet her again? After you left at 17?”

“Once, after I made it big in Mumbai. It wasn’t a happy reunion.”

“And now? She is gone,” her voice turned solemn. “How do you feel?”

“Nothing now. I am done.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I think I felt all that I had to feel.”

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