If you haven't already, first read The Fruit Wallah - Part 1
In Mumbai, there are no quiet places and no quiet times. Night and day, there are people everywhere. But the sea at dawn is the closest you can get. I reached Marine Drive while it was still dark. A couple of joggers went up and down the promenade, a few stray cars rumbled on the road. The air was crisp, and I tugged the shawl tight to my chest.
It was the sea that took my sister. After we came to Mumbai, she started to move past the trauma of her marriage. She wanted to be an accountant and was attending college. One day, she went boating with friends, and the boat capsized, leaving no survivors.
Despite that, the sea gives me comfort. I sat on a ledge and watched the frothy waves lap against the rocks, and recede back into the water, again and again, with a metronomic consistency. In a world where everything is always in flux, their ironclad repetition was somehow reassuring.
Light emerged from the darkness, as the first rays of the sun touched the night sky. What started as a dark orange hue, gradually transformed into a warm yellow. I cast aside my shawl and relished the warmth on my skin. I wanted to sit there and soak up the sun, but it was time to go to work.
I wished I could undo what I had done. But the die had been cast. I would have to face whatever comes, and roll with the punches.
I reached my stall and laid out the fruits. I’d been sitting at that same spot for years, still my butt felt uncomfortable against the bumpy ground that day.
Jumani Saab, a frail man with backswept white hair and thick square spectacles, came towards me.
“Are the peaches ripe?” He asked. “Can I take a look?”
“This batch is very good,” I handed him a peach.
He ran his fingers over it and sniffed it. “I’ll take a dozen.”
I put them into a packet and handed them over.
“You should move under that awning,” Jumani Saab said, as he paid me. “It’ll protect your fruits from the rain.”
I looked up at him. “I’ve asked Pandey Saab but…”
“Pandey won’t listen. He only cares about himself.”
After Jumani Saab left, Jadhav arrived and sunk his teeth into a peach. The juice trickled down his chin.
“Jumani Saab is running for Chairman against Pandey Saab in the society elections,” Jadhav told me. “Everyone says Pandey will win. He has big plans. The garden will be replaced by a new parking garage…” He trailed off when he saw the look of total disinterest on my face.
My mind was preoccupied with more pressing matters. I kissed the knotted black thread around my neck. Our family pandit gave it to me as a child, a sacred thread to dispel the evil that constantly encircled me. Not that it worked.
Jadhav folded his arms across his chest, and gave a slow shake of his head. “What got into you yesterday??”
I had spent the night racking my brain to come up with an answer to that question. But I drew a blank.
Ten minutes later, Pandey Saab thundered into my fruit stall. His eyes bulged outward, and the veins on his neck were pulsing.
“YOU,” He thrust a finger into my face. “You hit my son.”
I opened my mouth, then shut it again. In chess, a zugzwang is a situation where any move you make will hurt you, but it’s your turn and you have to move. This felt the same. Anything I said would only make it worse, but I couldn’t stay silent either.
“I’m really, really sorry.”
“You think you can slap my boy and get away with it??” Spittle appeared at the edge of Pandey’s lips as he yelled. “I’ll show you, madarchod.”
“It won’t happen again, Saab. I swear on my life.”
“After I become Chairman again, I’ll have you kicked out from here,” Pandey hissed. “I promise you that.”
“Please Saab,” I begged. “All my customers are here…”
I looked into his eyes and couldn’t detect a trace of compassion. I inclined my head down, towards the ground.
The old family curse was back. Generations of my family had been doomed by their fate. Why should I be spared?
This is what the world does to you. Just when you’ve settled into a place, you get expelled. You get vomited out like a stale sandwich. Nothing lasts, not your job, not your family, not your health. Everything decays, everything ends.
I knew that, but I was just tired of running…
*****
“Wake up,” The wife prodded me. “How much will you sleep?”
My eyelids fluttered open, and inch by inch, I lumbered out of bed. I sat with a cup of chai and the newspaper.
There was a story about immigrants who had settled abroad, and how they missed their childhood homes. The ‘diaspora’ they were called. Such a lot of rot and nonsense.
What do they know about getting kicked out of your home? The sense of grief and loss, the bleak reality of having to restart everything from scratch, only to lose it all again.
They know nothing. But I do. I know what it’s like to leave my home in the blink of an eye. No prior notice, no chance to say goodbye.
After leaving the village, our family went to Lucknow. We lasted a decade there. In that time, both my parents passed away. I also got married. But then the curse struck again.
I was working as a salesman, when one irate customer falsely accused me of stealing from him. The truth was I had said something that offended him, I can’t remember exactly what. The price I paid was much too high. I was fired. I was arrested. Somehow, I managed to bribe my way out of that mess. But it meant I had to leave the city. From the village to Lucknow to Mumbai, the running never stops…
“You’re late for work,” The wife said.
I grunted in response.
“What is it?” She came and sat next to me. She must have seen the knotting of my brow and the tightness in my face.
I felt an urge to tell her everything. The football, the brat kid, the slap, Pandey Saab, all of it. When I stopped talking, the wife stood and rubbed her lower back, which was still paining. She went to the kitchen area. I heard steel bartans clanging as she moved them around in the cupboard.
Then she reappeared before me. “You’ll need a new place to do business. You’ll have to find new customers. Will we move again? Will Roshni have to change her college?”
“Good,” Roshni said from her hunched position on the sofa. “I’m done with this place.”
“I thought you were enjoying the college play?” I said.
She turned her face away.
“She’s out of the college play,” The wife answered for her.
“Why?”
“I gave one suggestion about body language to the actor cast opposite me, and he gets so upset. The ego these boys have,” Roshni balled her hand into a fist and punched the sofa cushion. “He told the teacher he doesn’t feel any chemistry with me. The teacher, saala, agreed with him.”
“Did he talk to you first?”
“No. This boy’s father is a government clerk who helped the teacher with his passport. So I was replaced by a pretty girl who the boy has a crush on. Such haraamis they all are.”
Tears trickled from her eyes and glistened on her cheeks.
“This is not the end for you,” I gently caressed her hair. “You’ll get other chances.”
“You were right, Papa. The game is rigged against us.”
The way she said it made my shoulders slump and the air fizzed out of me. “Our whole family is cursed…”
“Again with the family curse,” The wife said. “How many times will you go on about that?”
“The curse is real,” I insisted. “My parents…”
“Yes, yes, I know what happened to your parents, and your grandparents before that, and your sister,” The wife sucked in a breath. “But I don’t get why you have to create this story about a tragic family curse, and how only an act of God can save us. When will you ever get past that??”
I was taken aback by the ferocity of her words. But when I looked at her, I saw a raw tenderness.
“Raghu, I know you’re doing your best,” She said softly. “But you have to understand that the Gods are up there, and we are down here, in the dirt. No one is coming to save us.”
For the rest of the morning, no one said a word. The ceiling fan croaked and wobbled. Flies buzzed about on the wall. The wife brought out a plastic fly-swatter from behind the sofa. In a blur of motion, she smashed it into the wall, killing two of the creatures with a single stroke.
Then she left to buy groceries. Roshni fell asleep on the sofa. And I was left to stew in silence.
I closed my eyes and steadied my breathing. In, out, in, out, in, out. I established an even cadence that quietened my thoughts. I felt a sudden clarity.
The wife was right, no doubt. I was the author of my own life. I would do what I had to do to survive. Simple as that.
*****
I sat cross-legged on the concrete ground and waited. In front of me was a large wicker basket, brimming with fruits. Fresh mangoes, juicy oranges, succulent peaches. A medley of my finest wares. On the basket handle was a red ribbon tied into a bow. That was Roshni’s idea, she said it would add a touch of class.
When I saw Pandey emerge from the building, I hopped to my feet and bounded towards him.
“Pandey Saab,” I called out.
He swiveled around. “What do you want?”
“I brought this for you,” I extended the basket forward.
He stood stiffly and remained unmoved.
“All my best fruits, Saab. They’re of the highest quality…”
“You think some crappy fruits will get you out of this??”
“No Saab, I don’t think that. I’m ashamed of myself. I raised my hand on a child,” I shook my head. “I’ve been unable to sleep since that incident. What I did was wrong.”
Pandey’s eyes flicked between me and the fruit basket.
“You can kick me out, Pandey Saab,” I said. “That is your right. But please accept this as a token of my repentance.”
I lifted the basket to chest height, hoping the heady scent of ripe alphonso mangoes would entice him.
“This doesn’t change anything,” Pandey said gruffly, as he took the basket. “After elections, I’ll have you removed.”
“I understand.”
Pandey walked ahead, but I stepped after him.
“Pandey Saab, I know the society is meeting this Saturday to elect a chairman,” I said. “What if I bring fruit baskets for all the residents, on your behalf? Will it help you, Saab?”
He stopped and stared. “You want to give away fruits?”
“Consider it my contribution to your election campaign.”
Pandey peered at me, trying to decipher my intentions. Then he frowned and nodded. “Fine.”
“Thank you, Pandey Saab.” I raised my fingers to the center of my forehead in an emphatic salute.
When I played chess, I was a lousy starter. My opponents would be swarming on my side of the board and my pieces would get cornered. Yet I always managed to recover. One thing I learned from those games was that if you want to win, then let your opponents think that you’re losing…
*****
The Asha Bhavan society elections were held in a large hall illuminated by bright tubelights. Rows of white plastic chairs were occupied by the building residents. An air-conditioner sputtered on the wall. At the front, there was a podium with a microphone.
Jadhav stood at the side of the room, helping out with the logistics of the meeting. I walked down the rows, giving out fruit baskets with red ribbons on the handle.
“Compliments of Pandey Saab,” I told each resident, as I gave them a basket.
When I retreated to the side, Jadhav was stuffing his face with a samosa from the snack table that had been laid out.
“Sitaramji,” He said. “What exactly are you doing?”
“Giving out fruits…”
“I can see that, but why? I thought you would be rooting for Pandey to lose. But here you are, giving free fruits on his behalf,” He scratched his belly. “I don’t understand you.”
I didn’t volunteer any explanation.
A distinct knocking sounded on the side door. Jadhav opened it. A stout man with heavily-oiled hair stood outside, holding a large bag. He glanced from me to Jadhav. There was no flicker of recognition, nothing to indicate that he was my longtime neighbor and friend.
“Is this the Asha Bhavan society meeting?” He asked.
“Who are you?” Jadhav countered.
“I come from Dayal Sweets,” He lifted the bag in his hand. “Gifts for the people, from Pandey Saab.”
Jadhav nodded and let him in. He made his way down the aisle, giving each person a square box with four pieces of mithai, and a leaflet with discount coupons.
“Ajit Pandey sends his regards,” He said to an old lady.
“Pandey has gone overboard this time,” The elderly man next to her commented. He adjusted his round, Gandhian glasses. “Fruits first, then mithai?”
“The sweets are on behalf of Pandey Saab, but the cost is covered by us,” The Mithai Wallah flashed a broad smile. “We wanted to repay Pandey Saab for his generosity.”
The bespectacled man arched an eyebrow. “Generosity?”
“Pandey Saab has made arrangements for us to get a prime spot at the new retail center.”
A few heads turned from nearby rows.
“What retail center?” Someone demanded.
“We want to make our future customers happy,” The Mithai Wallah said. “Ours is a small family business, and we need support from societies like yours.”
“Your shop is in Chembur, at the other end of the city,” The bespectacled man said. “It’s too far for us.”
The Mithai Wallah stood straight and announced. “Our new store will be opening at Asha Bhavan building itself, as soon as the parking lot is constructed. The ground floor is for shops, and ours will be the first one.”
More residents turned towards him and listened in.
“You’ll pass us every day,” The Mithai Wallah grinned. “We can also deliver to your homes anytime.”
A murmur passed through the building residents in a rising wave. Then it gradually subsided.
The Mithai Wallah finished his rounds, and came towards Jadhav and me. “Is Pandey Saab not here?”
“He’s running late,” Jadhav said. “His car had a flat tire.”
A feat that had been accomplished by a few sharp nails inserted at certain pressure points. When the wheel turned, the nails would get jammed into the rubber. After few kilometers on the road, the tyre would get properly ruptured. This ensured he got stranded midway.
It was a trick I had learned in the village, where me and my friends would puncture the school headmaster’s motorbike. Village boys can be real rascals, no doubt.
It should’ve been harder to do in a city housing society. Luckily, the watchmen here are easily distracted by the lure of fresh fruits.
The building residents chattered amongst themselves. The Mithai Wallah paced about and glanced at his watch.
“When will Pandey Saab reach?” He asked Jadhav.
The watchman shrugged.
“I have another delivery to make,” The Mithai Wallah said. “I’m already late.”
From his pant pocket, he extracted a white envelope containing a thick bundle that made it bulge. He pressed it into Jadhav’s palms.
“Give this to Pandey Saab,” His voice was loud enough to be heard by the residents on the side rows. “Tell him that Dayal Saab is grateful that we could come to an agreement.”
He exited the room, and I allowed myself a smile. He had played his part well. But it was only the opening salvo. I had another arrow in my quiver, still to be fired.
Ten more minutes passed, and the assembled residents were getting restless.
“Where’s Pandey?”
“How much more time??”
Jumani Saab stood up in the first row. “Let’s get started.”
He went up to the podium. He brushed his hair back, cleared his throat, and launched into a narrative about stability and maintaining tradition. Soon, he lost everyone’s attention. Some yawned and stretched. Some chatted away.
It was apparent that he had no chance of winning, had it not been for the invisible forces that were assisting him.
“So, if you elect me as your Chairman…”
He never completed that sentence, because the side doors were thrown open and a young girl barged inside. She wore a smooth white shirt and black trousers. Her hair was tied up in a compact bun. A lanyard hung around her neck, carrying an ID card that read: Jwala Mukherjee, PGT India.
Jadhav staggered towards her. “Madam…where you going?”
“Are you all from Asha Bhavan building?” She didn’t wait for a response. She marched to the front of the room and stood at the podium. Her face was wound up tight, her eyes were sharp, and her voice was piercing.
“I represent Plant Green Trees. My organization has learned that you people plan to tear down your garden to build a parking lot,” She regarded the rows of faces with disdain. “That’s unacceptable, and we will not let it happen.”
Her words bounced around the four walls of the room, and jolted everyone sitting inside. She was a little thing, but she radiated a rabid energy. If she hadn’t been my daughter, I would also have been afraid of straying into her orbit.
“You think there isn’t enough pollution in Mumbai, is that it?” Her tone was caustic. “Less trees and more cars, that’s exactly what this city needs.”
“Madam, it’s not like that…” Someone said.
“That’s the way you are behaving. Tell me, when you watch the news, do you skip the part about global warming, rising sea levels, hurricanes, tsunamis??”
None of the residents opened their mouth to speak.
“Some of those trees are a hundred years old. You people should know better,” She said reproachfully. “I mistook you all for an educated bunch.”
A hush descended over the residents of Asha Bhavan. Then they stirred and began objecting.
“Madam, you’re misunderstanding us…”
“Please Madam, we are not like that…”
She raised a hand for silence. “Our organization is committed to saving the trees. If you proceed with this parking lot plan, we’ll do whatever it takes to stop you. We will raise public awareness, we will organize protests, we will take the fight to courtrooms and bring this garden under the umbrella of the Environment Protection Act.”
She stopped speaking, allowing her words to sink in. Then she hooked a rigid finger in the air.
“You decide what you want to do,” She said. “But don’t tell me later that I didn’t warn you about the consequences.”
With that, she stormed out of the room. It took every ounce of my restraint not to hug her as she passed by. What a performance she had delivered. I made a silent promise to never again discourage Roshni from acting.
The smoldering fumes of her speech still hung in the air when Pandey entered. He moved briskly to the front of the room, looking a bit hassled.
“Sorry everyone,” He said. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
He went to the podium, and Jumani Saab returned to his seat, having been implicitly dismissed.
Pandey tapped the microphone twice before speaking. “I won’t waste more of your time, I’ll get straight to the point. Parking has been a major problem in our building. We see cars double and triple parked, clogging the compounds and choking up the lane. We need to fix this. My plan is to build a new parking structure where the garden currently is…”
“How many shops you plan to open?” Someone cut in.
Pandey blinked. “Nothing is decided about shops.”
“Hah,” A loud, derisive snort came from the first row. “Dayal Sweets is already confirmed, we know that.”
“No, no, nothing is confirmed.”
“Then how do you explain the free mithai and the discount coupons?”
“What mithai?” Pandey looked puzzled. “What coupons?”
“How much are they paying you??” Someone yelled.
Pandey’s eyelids flapped up and down. “It’s true that I thought about the possibility of allowing some retail stores, but I was going to bring that up at the next society meeting.”
The muttering amongst the residents grew and swelled till it became a low growl.
“You were going to tell us only after elections, ha?”
“We saw the Dayal Sweets guy leave money for you…”
“Don’t try to con us, Pandey. You think we were born yesterday??”
The elderly man with Gandhian glasses stood up, and the others quietened down to let him be heard. He was the oldest building resident, and one of the most respected.
“The bigger problem,” He said gravely. “is this business with the environmental NGO. I know these type of people. If we cut down the garden, they will create a ruckus. They’ll start rallies outside our building, and make our lives hell.”
“What you talking about?” Pandey’s forehead compressed inwards. “I’ve obtained all the necessary permissions to build the parking lot.”
A clamorous uproar swept over the room, as everyone began shouting at the same time. Some leapt to their feet and gesticulated wildly.
“You don’t know what you’re doing, Pandey.”
“The Green Trees people will come every single day with placards and slogans. They’ll ruin our peace…”
“We’ll be running from one courtroom to another…”
At the podium, Pandey reeled backwards, as the barrage of questions and impassioned declarations went on and on.
I saw the look of bewilderment on his face, and savored it. It was almost unfair. He was my opponent across the chessboard, and he didn’t even know it.
*****
It felt good to be out of the rain. I had earned my place in the shade. It was mine by right.
I watched the raindrops splash on the ground. Their gentle pitter-patter on the awning above my head sounded so soothing. The Mumbai monsoon can be delightful, as long as you don’t get drenched under it.
When the rain eased up, I sold twenty dozen fruits in an hour, more than I normally sell in a week. My free samples at the society elections had reminded the residents how my fruits could match the big stores in selection, and surpass them in freshness. And freshness is the key attribute of a fruit, as all my customers can attest.
Jumani Saab strolled towards my stall. Despite the cloudy skies, he was basking in the afterglow of his victory. He had become Society Chairman for the first time, after four failed attempts. Of course, it wouldn’t have happened without my machinations. But he didn’t know that, and he never would.
“Enjoying the shade, Raghu?” He beamed at me.
“Very much, Chairman Saab. Thank you for this.”
He took half a dozen mangoes and a bag full of lychees. When he brought out his wallet, I waved it away.
“Don’t worry about it, Jumani Saab.”
“That’s not necessary, Raghu. Let me pay you.”
“Consider it a celebration of your victory,” I put a box of strawberries in his packet. “Try these, they’re very fresh.”
His smile was gracious. He had not only sanctioned my move under the awning, but also arranged for a plastic barricade to shield my stall from those pesky footballs that sailed over from the garden. I won’t forget his kindness.
A while later, Pandey, the former Society Chairman, came out of the building. His eyes were enveloped by dark patches. Creases appeared on his cheeks. He looked like he hadn’t slept for days. It made me feel a twinge of guilt.
“Pandey Saab, would you like some mangoes?” I called out.
He turned and muttered something incoherent.
“I saved some for you from the last batch of the season,” It was my peace offering, and I meant it sincerely. But Pandey grunted and walked off.
I shrugged. Sooner or later, he would forget this ignominious defeat and move on. Life has a way of always moving forward, like a train hurtling down an infinite track.
Jadhav came next and loitered near my stall. This time, I offered him a fresh mango before he plucked it. I didn’t even record it in my ledger. I was feeling rather magnanimous.
Jadhav took his fruit and started to leave. Then he stopped and turned to face me.
“You know, when this story is told in the years to come,” He paused. “No one will believe that the residents of Asha Bhavan didn’t get the parking lot they badly needed, all because of the schemes of a fruit wallah.”
I met his gaze. The rotund watchman was far more perceptive than I gave him credit for. There was an undertone of admiration in his voice, which made me smile.
The sky rumbled and the rain fell in slanting streams. In the building garden, I saw a cat curled up under the overhanging branches of a tree. I followed her example and lay down on my side. I closed my eyes. The rhythmic drumming of the rain served as a background melody that lulled me into a deep, dreamless sleep…
