Page 49 of Made in Mumbai

“I have a maasi, she is awesome…”

“Great.”

“She is in the US. And can’t come because her Green Card is processing.”

“Then? Any friends here? Are you calling your mother to Mumbai?”

“As if,” Maya snorted. “I mean, she might come for the delivery. I haven’t worked the logistics out yet…”

“Maya?” Rustom’s singular drone sounded behind her.

“Yes, Rusti Bhai?” She turned to him with a grin. He got so annoyed when she called him that.

“Can we talk inside your cabin?”

She glanced around. Today the co-working space was more occupied than usual. Maya set her iPad down and followed him into her office.

“Haan, Rustom bhai?” She closed the door, understanding that he was more solemn than usual.

“I got to know from Riya about your family problems.”

“O… k…”

“In this condition, you should not be living alone. You can come to my house where my mother and wife can take care of you. My mother delivered four children of her own and two of my wife’s.”

Maya stared at him.

“It’s not a house as big as you may be used to living in, but we will give you one whole bedroom for yourself…”

Maya burst out crying. She had tried not to, but how could this fastidious, stern, borderline-disliking-her man stand here offering her accommodation and care in his home, which she knew was already small for his family of five.

“Don’t cry…” he became conscious, “if you don’t like it, it’s ok. I didn’t mean to…”

“No, no,” she sniffled through her tears, “thank you for thinking about me. You don’t know what that means in this time. But I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“The offer will be open.”

She nodded, still sobbing, wiping her eyes on her sleeve, hoping her ‘waterproof’ mascara hadn’t worn off. Rustom exited her office, leaving her to settle on her puffed armchair until the ugly crying settled.

Two knocks. She clamped her teeth on her lip, quickly wiping her hands down her face.

“Yes?” She sniffed.

“Maya?”

She cleared her throat, trying to sound airy — “Yes, Gautam, come in.”

Those four golden words instantly brought her mood out of the trenches. The joys of saying ‘Come in’ to the grump…Oh. My. God.It was only rivalled by the sugar high of Läderach pralines.

He pushed open her door and his eyes narrowed.

“Please,” she continued with her newfound airy professionalism, “take a seat.”

“Why are you crying?” He shut the door and strode towards her.

“Is it not allowed in this office to cry? Do you have a board put up outside that says dogs and crying are not allowed?”

“Maya.” He hissed.

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