A Contract - Part 7

 

 

The missing link

(Continued from Part 6)

 

Next morning, Amit sat down to work at his table in the service apartment with his notebooks open, pen drive plugged in.  Yet his mind was clearly somewhere else. He couldn’t work at all. Nothing really happened. His mind refused to sit still. It kept going back to Nita. To that flat across from Aajoba’s. To her hand in his. To her voice saying, “No chance, Mr. Kulkarni. ‘My bed’ too.”

This isn’t simple anymore, he thought, staring at the blank screen. The contract says six months, four crores, act the part. But what if I’m already…

He said it out loud, alone in the room. “Am I in love with her?”

The question hung there. No answer.

And then there were the mysteries. Why a secret flat? Why the “spy network” warning? Why did she go hot one minute and cold the next? Was she playing him?

I can’t let this drift, Amit decided, slamming the notebook shut. If I don’t take control now, I’ll drown.

That day, no code was written. No AI model trained. The hours just passed, heavy.

Evening came. Like it had for the last few days, his feet took him to Nita’s flat. It was routine now.

But the moment she opened the door, he stopped.

No fashion today. No makeup. No Aaji-proof armour. Just jeans, a loose tee shirt, hair tied in a messy knot. Nitu. Plain. Simple. And… broken?

He caught her hand before she could step back. Led her to the sofa. Made her sit.

“Hey,” he said softly, “What’s wrong with you?”

Nita didn’t answer. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She looked like she hadn’t slept. The boss lady was gone. This was someone else — stressed, small, lost.

Amit didn’t ask again. He just sat next to her, shoulder touching shoulder. Silent. Waiting.

Slowly, she came out of it. She talked. About nothing — the bai didn’t come, the AC was noisy, the lift was stuck. Deflections. But her voice steadied. They ordered food. Ate in silence.

And Amit knew. I have to move forward. Now. There’s too much at stake — four crores, thirty days, Aajoba’s trust, and… her.

Then a name flashed in his head. Vidyadhar Bokil.

The lawyer from Wai. He’d handled everything when Baba passed away. If anyone could dig up truths, trace papers, explain what a “contract marriage” really meant legally — it was Bokil.

I have to see him. Immediately.

Before leaving, he stood up. “Nitu, sorry, but I have to go to Wai. For a day.”

Her face fell. Just like that. The color drained. She looked like she was about to cry.

He crouched down, took her hands. “I’ll be back in three days. I promise. I’ll call you the second I’m back in Mumbai.”

She nodded. Didn’t speak. Didn’t trust herself to.

Amit walked out of that flat, down Aajoba’s building, onto the South Mumbai street.

The image of her — no makeup, eyes wet, sitting in that huge empty hall.

As soon as Amit alighted from the state transport bus on next day at Wai, he pulled out his phone and called Vidyadhar Bokil. “Kaka, I need to meet you. Some confidential matter.”

“Come tomorrow at 10 a.m.,” Vidyadhar said. “Evenings there’s too much crowd. No one comes in the morning because I have to leave for court.”

Aai was pleased and surprised, as always. Arre Amit, achanak? She fussed, fed him, asked no questions.

But there was news waiting for him.

“Suhas finally accepted a job in Pune,” Aai said, serving him ‘pohe’. “He’s already left.” She paused. “And Sudha’s marriage is fixed. A boy from Nashik. His family… quite wealthy.”

Amit detected a note of regret in Aai’s voice. The Nashik boy. The wealthy family. The same kind of match that had been dangled for him and Nita by Aajoba.

He purposely didn’t stress the point. “That’s good, Aai,” he said, and left it there.

Since there was nothing to do, he just relaxed. In the evening he went for a walk to the river ghats. The river was the same. The steps, the temples, the evening aarti bells. But he wasn’t the same Amit who’d left Wai with  a dream.

Four crores. Thirty days. Nitu, sitting in that huge empty hall alone.

Next morning he was at Vidyadhar’s office by 10. Old wooden furniture, law books stacked to the ceiling, the faint smell of court papers and smell of an ‘agarbatti’ burning.

After a few pleasantries — How is Aai? How is Mumbai? — Amit told him the full story. The contract. The marriage. Six months. The thirty days. He didn’t mention four crores, though. He replaced it with “a large amount of money.”

Vidyadhar listened, fingers steepled, eyes sharp behind his glasses.

“So what do you want to know from me?” he finally asked.

Amit leaned forward. “I want to know whether this kind of contract is real. And the divorce papers? Do they mean anything?”

Vidyadhar paused. Considered carefully. The ceiling fan whirred.

“Such a contract,” he said at last, “can be considered, at most, an MOU — a memorandum of understanding. It has no chance of standing as a legal document at all. If one party decides to let it go, the other party can do nothing.”

He adjusted his glasses. “Regarding the divorce papers — they could be real. But one party can easily get out by saying the signature was taken under emotional duress. I wouldn’t give much importance to either of the documents.”

Surprisingly, for no reason at all, Amit felt a weight lift off his chest. He could breathe. He came back on his own.

He asked Vidyadhar about fees.

Vidyadhar just waved him off. “Your father was a good man, Amit. Go. And think clearly.”

Amit stepped out into the Wai sunlight. The ghats, the river, the small-town air.

It’s not legally binding, he thought. She can walk away. I can walk away. But do I want to?

And then he saw Nita’s face again — no makeup, eyes wet, in that huge empty hall alone. He knew that at any cost he wanted her. Forget four cores!

Thinking about future, he dropped in a shop owned by a school friend. Told him that his mother lives alone in Wai and has no mobile. There is nothing to worry, but if urgent he wanted some contact through which he can talk to mother. The friend readily agreed. Amit returned home in a bit of a jovial mood. He caught himself whistling while climbing the steps.

Even Aai noticed. “Arre, you seem to be happy. Whom did you meet in the city?” she asked, eyes narrowing in that mother way.

“No one in particular, Aai,” he said, grinning. “Just a few old acquaintances. Had a good chat about old times.”

Luckily, Aai didn’t go deeper.

She’d made a special lunch — bharli vangi and bhakari with tup. Amit ate like he hadn’t in months. No four crores hanging over this meal, he thought. Just Aai’s hand.

Then he took up one regular task, the one he did every time he visited Wai. He repaired the leaky tap in the bathroom. Tightened loose screws on the old cupboard. Re-fixed the tilted photo frames — Baba’s, Aajoba’s, his own school photo with the crooked tie. Changed cushion covers. Oiled the creaky door.

By the time he finished everything, it was already evening. The sun was low over the Krishna.

Aai had made tea. Adrak wali. He sat on the veranda, sipping it, watching the light turn gold on the ghats.

Then, casually, he asked, “Aai, do you remember that my Aaji had got a gold ‘kargota’ made for me when I was a baby? Is it still with us, or was it pawned during Baba’s illness?”

Aai’s cup froze mid-air. Her eyes went sharp, suspicious in a second.

“Why do you ask now?” she said. “It is with me. But I will never give it to you if you are thinking of pawning it. I have kept it to make a ‘mangalsutra’ for my daughter-in-law, when you decide to marry.”

Amit expected this reaction. He put his cup down and looked straight at her. “Come on, Aai. I’m still your son. Do you think I would pawn that? I need to have some real gold now. I can 100% assure you it would be used for the purpose you want.”

Aai wasn’t satisfied. Her eyes didn’t soften. “Are you thinking of getting married? Who is the girl?”

Amit raised both hands, pacifying. “Aai, I would do no such thing without telling you. Trust me.”

She studied his face for a long moment. Then, without another word, she got up, went inside, and came back with a small cloth pouch.

She opened it. Inside, wrapped in old cotton, was the ‘kargota’ — delicate, gleaming, made when he was just a crying infant in Aaji’s arms.

“Aai, don’t you trust me?” Amit asked softly.

“Of course I do,” she said, pressing the chain into his palm. “That is why I am giving it to you. But remember — if you use it for any other purpose, I will never talk to you again.”

Amit laughed. He got up and hugged his old mother, feeling how small she’d become. “Ho, Aai. I promise.”

He felt the weight of the gold in his fist. And the weight of what he was about to do with it.

Next morning, as Amit got in  the Mumbai bus, almost all the confusion in his mind had disappeared.

He was going back with a clear head.

All hopes of getting a large sum of money after six months? he thought. As good as gone. Bokil said it — it’s just an MOU. Paper. Nothing more.

So what would he be gaining in this deal?

One thing was certain. After Aajoba’s interview and support, he had acquired something else — tremendous confidence. A new direction.  But the biggest prize of all would be of course, Nita.

Whatever happens to Nita’s contract, he told himself, I’ll be pursuing this new activity for sure. AI. My own work. My name. His company had sanctioned paid leave for six months. That was margin enough to start. To build. To prove.

There was one missing link, however. One piece that would complete the picture.  He was not yet sure about Nitu. Was she playing games or testing waters, before she took the jump. Yet, his heart defied all logic. She had mentioned in the beginning that he had her eye on him since the day of social, when he acted in a play.  Was this contract thing just a ploy? Anyway, he had to find it out soon.

As his bus entered Mumbai Central station, he sent a message to Nita, expecting a delayed reply. She’d be in office. Boss lady mode. Meetings, targets, Aajoba’s shadow.

Surprisingly, his phone rang.

Nita.

“I haven’t gone to the office,” she said. Her voice was low. “I’m waiting for you. At home.”Which meant he had to hurry.

He took a local — Churchgate fast, packed, sweating, but he didn’t care. Got off at Churchgate, caught a bus that dropped him near the service apartment.

He dumped his backpack on the bed. Checked once again — the ‘kargota’ was safe, wrapped in Aai’s old cotton, tucked in his wallet.

Then he locked the door and started walking to Nita’s apartment. To Aajoba’s building. To that huge empty hall.

His heart was beating faster than the Mumbai traffic. The moment of truth.

Nita opened the door herself.

When she saw him, her eyes lit up. Just for a second.

As Amit saw her in full light, he was shocked. “Hey! Are you okay? Why are you looking like this? Did you go to the office for the last two days?”

Nita really looked like she’d been ill for a long time. Still in jeans. A crumpled tee. Hair unkept. No makeup. No boss lady. Just Nitu — pale, drained, hollow.

Nita sighed. “At least sit down first, yaar, then start your firing. I’ll tell you the full account of the last two days. You want coffee?”

Amit said, “Yes. But only if you make it.”

She shot him a dirty, angry glance, then turned to the kettle. Made two cups. Black, strong, the way he liked.

She sat down on the sofa. Amit stood at some distance from her, arms crossed.

 

“So how was your trip to Wai?” she asked. “How is… Aai?”

Amit’s ears picked it up instantly. Aai. She’d said Aai. For the first time. Not ‘your mother.’ Not ‘Kaku.’ Aai.

He showed no reaction. Kept his face flat.

“I’ll tell you everything,” he said. “But only after you answer my questions.”

Nita smiled, thin and tired. “I am perfectly okay, Amit. I did attend office for the last two days. But no client presentations. Only routine work. All meetings I got postponed to next week. This morning I got up and then suddenly I thought — you would be here in a few hours. If I go to office, I won’t be able to see you till evening.

Just sent a message to GM Kaka that I have a headache. That’s all’. Amit laughed. “So MD madam also lies,” he whispered.

He finished his coffee. Kept the mug away. His tone turned serious.

“Nitu, I actually went to see an old lawyer in Wai. Mr. Vidyadhar Bokil.”

“What for?” Nita asked, frowning.

“He’s the guy who handled all the legal matters during the court cases against my father.”

“But that was long time ago,” Nita said.

“True. But there was some minor confusion in the mind of one of the lenders. He believed an outstanding amount is still due. So I took him to the lawyer, who brought out old papers and satisfied the old lender.”

A harmless cover story, Amit thought. Good enough.

Nita seemed satisfied. Then, all of a sudden, she asked, “How is Vasudha? Did you meet her?”

“Wh-what Vasudha?” Amit blinked, then realized — the ball is in my court.

“Oh, Vasudha?” he added, playing dumb. “But how would I know? She lives in Mumbai and I had gone to Wai. Yes, I do know one more Vasudha, but you know her too. Vasudha Mane, our accounts lady. But she also was in Mumbai.”

This girl is too smart, he thought. Always have to be on guard.

Time to go on the offensive.

He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Nitu, but I must tell you something.”

Nita became suddenly attentive. Eyes wide.

“Today morning I got in the bus,” Amit began. “My seat number was 15, a window seat. When I reached there, I found a most beautiful girl already sitting there. Oh! What a beauty she was! Just another MD! I told her that was my seat. What a voice she had! She asked me, ‘Can I sit near the window?’ What—”

He was watching her. Nita was becoming restless. Her fingers twisted the hem of her tee. Her foot tapped.

Now she suddenly got up, muttering some words, and rushed toward him.

Amit was ready.

As she came near, he bent down, gathered her in his arms, and lifted her straight up.

Nita, most surprised, opened her mouth to say something — but before she could, Amit kissed her. On the mouth. For a few seconds. Firm. No asking.

He let her go after that, let her feet touch the floor, but kept her tightly embraced.

She looked up, tried to say something, but Amit just kept looking in her eyes. Steady stare. No words.

And he was no longer seeing a young, youthful, grown-up girl. No MD. No boss lady.

He saw a lost, forlorn child. Both her parents gone — for whatever reason. Alone in this huge empty hall.

As he looked at her, he realized — I’ve found it. The missing link I’ve been searching for.

I’ve won the case.

Amit held Nita’s hand, took her to the sofa. Both of them sat there for long. No one said anything. Her head on his shoulder. His arm around her. The city noise far away.

After some time had passed, Amit realized he was hungry.

“Any packets of Maggi lying in the house?” he asked, breaking the silence. I want something to eat.

Nita, now completely recovering from the shock, gave him a small smile. “No need for that. Aaji has kept food for you.”

She called the maid. Within a short time, lunch came through the connecting door —  batata bhaji, poli, loncha. Aaji’s spy network, still feeding them.

Amit looked at the thali. Then at Nita. Then at the pocket where Aai’s kargota was tucked.

Soon, he thought. Very soon.

After they had eaten, Amit just relaxed on the single-seat sofa, looking at Nita with half-closed eyes.

How beautiful she looks here, at home, he thought. No bossy airs. Nothing. Just Nitu. The girl who faked a headache to wait for me.

Nita, however, was thinking something else. She came up to Amit and said, “Amitji, I want to tell you something.”

“Go ahead,” said Amit.

“Tomorrow Vakilkaka wants to talk to us. On some important matter. At the club, around 11 a.m.”

Amit knew exactly what he would say. The contract. The four crores. The six months. The divorce papers. Bokil’s voice echoed in his head — “Just an MOU. Nothing more.”

But he kept quiet. “OK, no worries. I shall come. Would you pick me up?”

“Actually, Vakilkaka would pick you up,” said Nita. “I would come myself.”

“I would be ready,” Amit said.

Nita suddenly started looking sad and depressed. The light that had come back after the kiss drained out of her face again.

Amit got up, took her hand, and made her sit close to him. “Hey! Why do you look so sad? The sky is not going to fall tomorrow.”

She didn’t answer. Just stared at her own fingers.

After some time, he lightly patted Nita and asked her, “Would you do something blindly for me? No questions.”

Nita looked up. “OK,” she said.

“Get up. Go to your room and change into a dress. Kurta and leggings. Some nice colour. Tie your hair. And come out. I would wait here for you.”

Nita didn’t argue. No why. No what for. She just got up and went to her room.

Amit closed his eyes. Trust me, Nitu. Just this once.

She was back after half an hour.

A stunning yellow kurta and leggings. Hair tied up, a small bindi. She looked fabulous. Not MD. Not boss lady. A Marathi mulgi from South Mumbai, stepping out for bhel.

“Take your ‘odhani’ with you,” Amit said. “It could be windy.”

They left the house and got into Nita’s car. “I have set up GPS,” he said, taking the phone. “We are going to Colaba. The southernmost tip of Mumbai.”

After about half an hour, weaving through traffic, they reached the gate of a garden.

Both alighted and walked inside.

Nita couldn’t believe her own eyes. “Such a beautiful garden right inside this city where millions live,” she exclaimed. “I never knew this existed.”

They walked around. tall trees of all kinds. Clean paths. A beautiful green lawn with benches.

Nita wanted to sit there, but Amit just said, “Continue.”

Further up they came to the end of the garden.

And then — up ahead — a huge expanse of water. The Arabian Sea. Waves breaking on black rocks. The sun starting to dip. The entire scene was absolutely mesmerizing.

They sat on a bench nearby. Not like lovebirds. Not giggling, not leaning all over each other. Like a couple. Close, but not that close. Shoulders almost touching.

Nita looked really happy. The wind played with her ‘odhani’. For the first time in days, she looked… free.

“Nita, I want to ask something,” Amit said. “But before that, answer me straight — whether you trust me or not?”

Nita turned to him. No hesitation. “I trust you.”

“OK then remember that we are the winning team. Everything is going to happen tomorrow as we wish.”

“But how would you know that you know what I want?” said Nita, eyebrows raised.

Amit smiled. “That you would find out tomorrow. Have trust in me and relax.”

One more request. “Can I take your photo?”

Nita just laughed. “MD madam’s personal photographer?”

He took a snap — her, yellow kurta, sea behind her, hair flying, eyes smiling without fear. He sent it to her.

She looked at it and immediately said, “I like it.”

They sat there for some time. Watching the waves. Not talking. Not needing to.

Then they left. Ate some vada-pav and cutting chai on the way.

 

Nita dropped Amit near the service apartment and went home.

For the first time in many days, she was feeling much better.

Amit watched her car disappear. Hand in his pocket, fingers touching Aai’s kargota.

 

Amit was ready next morning when Vakilkaka’s call came. Shirt ironed, hair set, Aai’s ‘kargota’ safe in his pocket.

He went downstairs and they were off to the club. Silent ride. Vakilkaka looked at him once, but said nothing.

They alighted at the club and went straight to reception where Nita was waiting. Saree. Light blue. No boss lady armour today — just Nitu, nervous.

After formalities were done, Nita told them she had reserved a conference room and they could go straight there.

When they started walking, Amit did something that really surprised Vakilkaka.

He took Nita’s hand in his hand. Fingers laced. Firm. And they walked together to the conference room.

In the conference room, Amit requested Vakilkaka to sit on one side. He moved first and let Nita sit after him — so that his left hand could hold Nita’s hand firmly under the table.

Vakilkaka saw it. His eyebrows went up half an inch. But he said nothing.

“OK, let’s start,” said Vakilkaka.

Then he explained all the documents. Page by page. Clause by clause. Essentially, he said almost the same thing Vidyadhar Bokil had told Amit in Wai.

“This contract is, at best, an MOU. Not legally enforceable. If one party walks away, the other can do nothing. The divorce papers — signed under emotional duress — hold no water.”

After Vakilkaka had finished, there was pin-drop silence for a few seconds. You could hear the AC hum.

Then Amit asked Nita, “Do you have any objection to me inspecting the documents by taking them in my own hands?”

She looked at him. At his hand holding hers. “No problem,” she said.

Vakilkaka forwarded the folder to him. The tension in the conference room was unbearable.

Amit lifted the first set of papers. Read the heading out loud. “Contract—”

Then he said, clear and calm, “I, Amit Kulkarni, a signatory of this contract, am asking hereby in presence of her lawyer, Ms. Nita Afale, whether she has any objection to destroying this paper?”

Nita’s eyes widened. For a heartbeat. Then she said, immediately, “No.”

Amit coolly and calmly tore the contract papers into small shreds. Strip by strip. No drama. No anger. Just… done. He carefully kept the shreds back in the folder.

He then picked up the divorce papers. Repeated his words. “I, Amit Kulkarni, a signatory of these divorce papers, am asking hereby in presence of her lawyer, Ms. Nita Afale, whether she has any objection to destroying these papers?”

Nita whispered, “No.”

He tore those too.

“What now remains,” Amit said, putting the folder down, “is the little matter regarding the notice of marriage. “Vakilkaka, we would individually let you know our decision by this evening. You can then take appropriate action.”

He smiled. “OK. Meeting is over.”

As Vakilkaka got up and started to go toward his car, Nita just didn’t know what to do. She was looking here and there, lost.

Amit leaned in and whispered to her, “I’m dying for coffee.”

That settled the matter.

Vakilkaka left, and Amit and Nita sat in the club coffee shop. No papers. No lawyers. Just two coffees and silence.

After they started for home, Nita — still confused from the proceedings — asked Amit, “Where do you want to go?”

Amit just laughed. “You decide.”

Nita was further confused, but eventually they reached Nita’s apartment. Her huge empty hall.

Once inside, Nita asked Amit, “What have you actually done?”

He said, “I just deleted the past.”

After Nita sat down, still puzzled, Amit was doing something strange. He found a small piece of tissue paper from the table. Started rolling it into a tube. Carefully. Patiently. After a tube was formed, he wound it around his finger and made a perfect ring.

Then he got up and dramatically asked Nita to stand up.

Then he went on his knees before her.

“Would you marry me, Ms. Nita Afale?”

Nita somehow controlled her laughter, eyes suddenly wet. “Yes, my lord.”

Amit took the paper tube ring from his finger, put it on Nita’s finger, and dramatically kissed the ring.

Both of them started laughing. Loud, free, like kids. The huge empty hall didn’t feel empty anymore.

After a while, he got up and started searching in Nita’s kitchen.

“What do you want?” asked Nita.

He paid no attention but found some spaghetti and tomato paste. Within half an hour, the smell of freshly cooked pasta pulled them to the dining table.

They ate. Satisfied with the day’s proceedings, Amit dozed off on the sofa.

Nita couldn’t sleep at all. She kept looking at the paper ring on her finger, at Amit sleeping peacefully. She still couldn’t believe how Amit had, as if by magic, come out to be a winner.When Amit woke up, it was half past four.

“Hey wifey!” he said, stretching. “Have you decided what to tell Vakilkaka? Be a good girl and tell him.”

Nita called Vakilkaka. “We are ready to go ahead with the marriage,” she said, voice steady.

He was genuinely pleased. “This boy Amit is really very sharp and good,” he told Nita. “Never ever let him go!”

Nita wanted to cry.

Amit looked at his watch and asked Nita, “Hey, don’t you want to celebrate our engagement? Be a good girl and change to something nice quickly. We have to go out.”

Nita came out to the hall in a short time. Today she had changed to a blue kurta with leggings. Hair open, small jhumkas.

Whatever the colour, Amit thought, she looks stunning as usual.

“Where to?” Nita asked.

“Museum,” was the answer.

“Why?”

“Because there is paid parking,” said Amit, grinning.

She rolled her eyes, but her lips curved. MD madam being bossed by a Wai boy.

They parked the car and walked up to Gateway of India. The magnificent structure — imposing as always. Stone arches, history in every crack.

They walked along the footpath. Sea breeze. Must have been high tide, Amit thought, as occasionally there was a mist-like feeling — salt spray touching their faces.

They stood opposite the Taj. The palace hotel, lights starting to come on.

 

The sky was darkening, and suddenly the Gateway lit up with red lights. A magnificent spectacle. Gold stone turned crimson against the navy sky.

Amit took a selfie. Two faces, Gateway behind them, red glow on their cheeks.

Both had similar thoughts, though neither said it: We too are standing on the gateway of our life.

Nita suggested, “Eating at Harbour Bar in Taj?”

Amit stopped walking. Looked at her.

“Nitu, this probably would be the first and last time I am suggesting something,” he said, soft but serious. “Henceforth I would never contradict you. You have agreed to marry an ordinary middle-class boy from Wai. So today… can we eat at a place where commoners go?”

Nita’s eyes went wide. Then she smiled. A real one. No MD smile. Nitu smile. “I like the idea.”

They searched around on Colaba Causeway. Lights, noise, hawkers, tourists. They found a restaurant — nothing fancy. Old fashioned chairs, noisy fans, laminated menu.

There were many couples like them. Young. Laughing. Holding hands under the table.

They had a great dinner. Pav bhaji, butter naan, dal fry. Amit paid. Cash from his wallet. No cards, no company account. Just his.

After dinner, Nita dropped Amit at the service apartment.

 

He got out, leaned in through the window. “Sleep well, dear.”

She blushed. “Yes! You too… .”

Her thumbs-up came up later as she reached the house.

Amit: “Reached? Good now remember we are a team. No more tensions.”

Nita: Yup. Good night. 

 

Amit lay on his bed, looking at the ceiling. He thought. He was right after all. Nita had planned this little game just to catch him. He had no regrets, however. Sometimes to be a catch also can be good.

Only two things remained before next weeks signing before registrar. To get a real gold ‘mangalsutra’ from his ‘kargota’ and give good news to Aai and show her Nita’s photo taken in the park. She would be pleased to see that photo for time being.  

(Concluded)

(All characters places except for geographical names events actions of people are fictional. Any similarity found is purely accidental. All images AI generated)

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