Page 67 of Made in Mumbai

As they cleared up the crockery and she began to wash the utensils he stopped her. “My domestic help will come and do it tomorrow morning. Just leave it all in the sink.”

She still rinsed it all.

“Maya?”

“Yes?”

He hesitated. But it had to be said.

“You can live here like it’s your own house…”

“But I do this every day at my own house,” she flicked water off her hands and wiped them on a towel. Her top bun was unravelling and she reached up to retie it, her T-shirt riding high to give him a peak of perfect, taut skin over her bump. Gautam quickly glanced up at her hands doing that mystical thing girls did that wound their hair into a knot.

“You didn’t have a domestic help?” He asked.

“Not in this house.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask why. Why was she living like this when her parents, her ex were wealthy and probably eating in silver plates right now. The veneer of her glossy personality and accessories suddenly just fell away to this struggling Mumbai girl who did things to push her life forward and wasn’t complaining.

What had gone so wrong in her life?

“I have contacted the brokers who helped me find this place,” she broke his thoughts. “They are showing me flats this week. I will be out of here before you know it. Maybe even before you come back from your trip.”

That didn’t sit well with him. If these brokers had shown her this hellhole with a landlord like that, he wouldn’t trust them with much else.

“Leave them. I have better brokers. They will get you a good place at reasonable rent.”

“I am not telling them no, but you put your guys to work too. Tell them 1-bedroom or 1-room-kitchen studio is fine. The budget is 15,000.”

That was a fraction of her salary. Where was she spending the rest of her money? On bags?

“Let’s do this — I’ll come back and arrange a meeting. Until then, you take it easy. What did your doctor say? Rest today and tomorrow. All you‘ve done is stress out and run around all day. Are you planning to go to the office day after?”

“It’s Monday…” she gave him that naughty eyebrow quirk. “And you are going. How can I miss a chance to party it up in Made in Mumbai?”

“That is why I am giving you work from home while I am away.”

She laughed, rounding the kitchen counter and standing in front of him — “I remember someone telling me ‘No Work From Home!” She did an undertaker imitation.

Gautam padded to his wide, sweeping 9-seater sofa and settled back. The dark Mumbai skyline was twinkling in the distance, looking like some dream. The sea-link was a tiny bridge of that dream in one corner, connecting the suburbs with SoBo. Two cultures that lived and died a sea apart. That reminded him.

“Your parents’ house is still in Walkeshwar?”

She settled on the sofa, a little primly, like she was a guest, which she was. But he didn’t like it. So he plucked a pillow from behind him and threw it at her. She caught it, pushed it behind her back and sighed. Her first peaceful sigh in his house.

“It is.”

“Then why not sell it and buy something here? The property rates would mean you get your own duplex this side…”

“Because my parents wouldn’t ‘help’ me walk on a bad path like that. They wouldn’t ‘take me in’ after my divorce. Not that I wanted to go. Anyway, they have rented it out now.”

“I can’t imagine people who would rent out their flat but not give it to their pregnant daughter.” Or maybe he could imagine parents like that, but not the kind he thought lived in the city, among the civilised lot. His own had been a different breed, but their thoughts were best kept chained and caged in the darkest part of his memory.

Maya shrugged, settling deeper into his sofa and putting her feet shyly up. He reached out and pulled one of her ankles. She gasped.

“Lie down if you want to. I told you, live in this house like it’s yours.”

She smiled shyly, “Thanks.” And slowly her other foot also reached up until she was comfortable. Why were these shy smiles beginning to lurch his chest? And why was he starting to hunger for them, seek them, work for them?

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