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Authors: Harsh Warrdhan
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it,
beta
? Who is calling you so late?’ her mother asked from the bedroom, as if on cue.
If there was an earthquake her mother would sleep through it, but she had a hawk-eye and the ear of an owl when it came to Simi.
‘It’s Sharmila, Mom,’ Simi lied as she whispered ‘Hi’ into the phone.
‘
Yaar
, the bloody window cost ten thousand to fix,’ Namit told her getting straight to the point.
‘Ten thousand?’ Simi whispered again.
‘Usually they have the China-made glass but they are out of stock so they put in an original one,’ Namit explained.
She knew why he was explaining, the cheap bastard.
‘OK. Is it all right if I give you the money in a day or two?’ Simi asked.
‘Yeah, OK. I wouldn’t ask Simi, but, I … I …’ Namit couldn’t even think of an excuse.
Fattu!
Namit was no Bobby Donnell.
‘It is OK, I’ll pay you,’ Simi said even though she had no idea how she would find the money.
‘So, what are you wearing?’ Namit asked, venturing into dangerous territory after taking care of the window business.
‘Kya?’ Simi heard him all right; she had to look down to see what she was wearing — an old
salwar-kameez.
‘A nightie,’ she lied.
‘A nightie? What color is it?’ Namit sounded excited.
Simi looked around and decided on ‘black’.
She could
hear
Namit getting aroused. ‘What else?’ he panted.
‘What else what?’ Simi smiled as she asked.
‘What else are you wearing?’ Namit tried a deeper, sexier voice.
At this point Simi could easily have hooked him and taken him on an erotic journey, but that was too much effort and and would be deceitful. She neither had the patience nor the inclination.
‘Namit, I am off to sleep now.’
He sent her disgusting wet kisses over the phone and then hung up.
Where am I going to get ten thousand rupees?
The next day, Simi tried to ask Sharmila when she met her at Costa Coffee. Sharmila was Simi’s best friend. She belonged to an ultra-rich industrialist family and she always liked to meet at these kind of cafes. Simi hated them. A cup of coffee cost an exorbitant two hundred and fifty rupees. She reckoned her mom made better coffee and so she always ended up ordering what she couldn’t get at home, like a Peach-Apple Frappe, which defeated the purpose because it was three hundred and fifty rupees, but to her middle-class sensesit felt like a better deal. As they sat down, Sharmila started asking her about Namit.
‘So, how was it?’ she asked excitedly.
‘It was awesome,
yaar.
I never thought it would be such a … spiritual experience!’ Simi lied through her teeth.
‘Really? You are lucky,
yaar.
Mine was, I don’t even remember, I was so drunk!’ Sharmila stressed how intoxicated she was. Sharmila had a reputation amongst the boys. She would call herself a slut if she didn’t know better.
Simi changed the topic.
‘
Achcha, sun na. Yaar
, I need some money. I’ll pay you back?’
Without asking any questions, Sharmila dug into her purse and handed Simi about one thousand rupees.
‘That’s all I am allowed to carry in cash,’ she told Simi.
Helping someone with money makes people think they are being gallant, particularly in small towns like Nagpur.
‘I needed about ten thousand!’ Simi said disappointedly.
‘Ten thousand? Abortion
karana hai kya
?’ Sharmila thought it was funny that Simi might have wanted the money for an abortion. There was a rumor that Sharmila had had one last year when she was in Australia where her elder sister was a doctor. Simi had never brought it up with her. In Nagpur it didn’t matter how strong a friendship was, some things were not discussed beyond family. Simi knew that.
‘
Nahi, yaar.
Just some emergency.’ Simi wanted this meeting to end now. She hated asking people favors.
Sharmila showed Simi a credit card.
‘My mom is a freak, man. If I ask for anything more than one thousand rupees from her she thinks it is for an abortion. She seems to think I am
beta
? Who is calling you so late?’ her mother asked from the bedroom, as if on cue.
If there was an earthquake her mother would sleep through it, but she had a hawk-eye and the ear of an owl when it came to Simi.
‘It’s Sharmila, Mom,’ Simi lied as she whispered ‘Hi’ into the phone.
‘
Yaar
, the bloody window cost ten thousand to fix,’ Namit told her getting straight to the point.
‘Ten thousand?’ Simi whispered again.
‘Usually they have the China-made glass but they are out of stock so they put in an original one,’ Namit explained.
She knew why he was explaining, the cheap bastard.
‘OK. Is it all right if I give you the money in a day or two?’ Simi asked.
‘Yeah, OK. I wouldn’t ask Simi, but, I … I …’ Namit couldn’t even think of an excuse.
Fattu!
Namit was no Bobby Donnell.
‘It is OK, I’ll pay you,’ Simi said even though she had no idea how she would find the money.
‘So, what are you wearing?’ Namit asked, venturing into dangerous territory after taking care of the window business.
‘Kya?’ Simi heard him all right; she had to look down to see what she was wearing — an old
salwar-kameez.
‘A nightie,’ she lied.
‘A nightie? What color is it?’ Namit sounded excited.
Simi looked around and decided on ‘black’.
She could
hear
Namit getting aroused. ‘What else?’ he panted.
‘What else what?’ Simi smiled as she asked.
‘What else are you wearing?’ Namit tried a deeper, sexier voice.
At this point Simi could easily have hooked him and taken him on an erotic journey, but that was too much effort and and would be deceitful. She neither had the patience nor the inclination.
‘Namit, I am off to sleep now.’
He sent her disgusting wet kisses over the phone and then hung up.
Where am I going to get ten thousand rupees?
The next day, Simi tried to ask Sharmila when she met her at Costa Coffee. Sharmila was Simi’s best friend. She belonged to an ultra-rich industrialist family and she always liked to meet at these kind of cafes. Simi hated them. A cup of coffee cost an exorbitant two hundred and fifty rupees. She reckoned her mom made better coffee and so she always ended up ordering what she couldn’t get at home, like a Peach-Apple Frappe, which defeated the purpose because it was three hundred and fifty rupees, but to her middle-class sensesit felt like a better deal. As they sat down, Sharmila started asking her about Namit.
‘So, how was it?’ she asked excitedly.
‘It was awesome,
yaar.
I never thought it would be such a … spiritual experience!’ Simi lied through her teeth.
‘Really? You are lucky,
yaar.
Mine was, I don’t even remember, I was so drunk!’ Sharmila stressed how intoxicated she was. Sharmila had a reputation amongst the boys. She would call herself a slut if she didn’t know better.
Simi changed the topic.
‘
Achcha, sun na. Yaar
, I need some money. I’ll pay you back?’
Without asking any questions, Sharmila dug into her purse and handed Simi about one thousand rupees.
‘That’s all I am allowed to carry in cash,’ she told Simi.
Helping someone with money makes people think they are being gallant, particularly in small towns like Nagpur.
‘I needed about ten thousand!’ Simi said disappointedly.
‘Ten thousand? Abortion
karana hai kya
?’ Sharmila thought it was funny that Simi might have wanted the money for an abortion. There was a rumor that Sharmila had had one last year when she was in Australia where her elder sister was a doctor. Simi had never brought it up with her. In Nagpur it didn’t matter how strong a friendship was, some things were not discussed beyond family. Simi knew that.
‘
Nahi, yaar.
Just some emergency.’ Simi wanted this meeting to end now. She hated asking people favors.
Sharmila showed Simi a credit card.
‘My mom is a freak, man. If I ask for anything more than one thousand rupees from her she thinks it is for an abortion. She seems to think I am
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