We Three – Chapter 8

 

Moving Out?

(Continued from Chapter 7)

After an entire month of June having gone dry, the rain gods suddenly turned benevolent towards Pune. In the first week of July, it rained very heavily, and with all anxiety gone, everyone started enjoying the beautiful weather.

The three S-es, however, were not in a mood to enjoy the weather, their minds preoccupied for various reasons. On one side, Shripad was busy preparing for a long spell of absence from Pune — being a green card holder, he would be expected to spend larger periods in the US, and there were many things to settle before he left: statutory payments, maintenance of his property, renewal of fixed deposits.

On the other side, Kshipra and Srini were brooding, thinking about the future. Kshipra had two residences in Pune — the larger one that belonged to Sam, and the smaller one that Baba had given her. She could easily have moved into the smaller one, but after spending almost a year in the company of Shripad and Srini, she was no longer willing to stay alone. Srini, too, had a fully furnished and equipped flat in Mulund, but she was equally unhappy at the thought of moving there and staying by herself. Yet neither of them was willing to say anything about it first, each hoping against hope that their stay at We Three would be extended for as long as possible.

Their hopes were dashed about a week after Shripad's dramatic announcement. As they sat sipping hot ginger tea in the fine weather, Shripad spoke up.

"Hey, girls! Our leave and license is expiring next month. The owner of the bungalow called me this morning — we need to decide. If I leave for the US, and if you two are willing to live here and share all expenses, we can renew the agreement. Otherwise it will lapse and we'll have to move out."

"What is the expiry date?" asked Srini.

"The 15th of August, if I remember correctly," said Shripad.

"Which means we have about twenty-five days to decide and actually move our stuff," said Kshipra.

"Okay, give us about a week to decide. By the end of July, we should take a final decision," said Srini.

The next afternoon, after lunch, both Srini and Shripad went off to their rooms for their siesta. But Kshipra wasn't feeling sleepy at all, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of shifting. She found herself remembering the lonely days and nights she had suffered in Pune after Sam was gone. At no cost did she want to repeat those dull, empty days. Thinking it over, she made a decision then and there: she would stick with Srini, wherever Srini decided to stay — here, or anywhere else in Pune, or even in Mumbai. Having made up her mind, she felt much relieved, and with her thoughts at ease, she drifted back easily into the past again, to Sam, her favourite pastime these days. Within a few minutes, she was fast asleep.

That evening, after tea, Shripad went out again, probably to his flat, leaving the two women alone in the house. Srini, in a somewhat mellow mood, asked Kshipra, "Can we talk, Kshi? Since Shri is out — what are we going to do?"

Kshipra had actually been waiting for this opening from Srini. "Srini," she said, "when we were kids and played 'house-house,' you always made me play your maid. So I've decided, in real life, to do just that. I'll stick to you. Wherever you decide to go, I'm coming along. As far as I'm concerned, the decision is made."

Srini laughed and asked, "Jokes apart, don't you think staying here will be unmanageable for us without Shripad?"

"Absolutely true — that option is out of the question," Kshipra agreed. "If we decide to stay in Pune, my house — the one Baba gave me — is lying vacant. We could move there. My other property, Sam's bungalow, is bigger, but I've rented it out to a software company. So if you're willing to accept a somewhat cramped lifestyle, you're welcome to stay in my humble house."

"That's a good idea. But I think we should keep the option open to go stay in Mulund whenever we feel like a change. I still have my flat there," said Srini.

"Done. It's a good idea," Kshipra replied.

"Can we visit your house tomorrow, to see what changes we'll need to make there?" Srini asked.

"No problem. Can you ride pillion on my scooty?" Kshipra asked.

"I've never tried it, but I suppose I can manage," said Srini.

"Okay, we'll go tomorrow around ten in the morning. I'll tell my maid to come early and clean the place up," Kshipra agreed.

With the course of action decided, both of them relaxed and settled into conversation. "Srini, you were supposed to tell me where you met Jaswant," Kshipra said. "Why not now?"

Srini thought for a few seconds. "Hey, this is cheating! You had promised to tell me about Sam first. Do that."

Kshipra laughed heartily. "I'll tell you a few words about him first, then you start your story."

Srini frowned. "Nothing of that sort. I want to hear the full story — about you and Sam and everything you did here."

"Of course not — I'm a very shy woman, and modesty is my main virtue," said Kshipra.

"Fine then, our deal about keeping you as my maid is off," Srini shot back.

Both of them laughed. After a moment, Kshipra began her story.

"I think I told you I was working with Shembekar kaka as an Assistant Pleader. He was planning to retire, and his son was slowly taking over. I wasn't very keen on joining him as an assistant.

"Then, one fine morning, this man walked into our room, where all of us juniors sat and worked. He asked the person seated near the door, 'Shembekar sir has sent me to meet one Kshipra Kadam. Where does she sit?' Someone pointed him to my table. He was a well-built man, looked almost like a wrestler — strong biceps and triceps — wearing a white half-shirt and jeans. He came up to my desk and asked, 'Kshipra madam? Shembekar sir asked me to see you.'

"'I am Kshipra. Please sit down. What can I do for you?' His name was Sampat Patil, and he wanted help with a few legal matters. His mother had passed away a few months earlier, and he wanted to remove her name and add his own to the property card and the seven-twelve extracts. Fairly simple, straightforward jobs, normally handed to new assistants. He had a residential property in Pune itself, and two agricultural plots in two villages in Satara district.

"I wondered why Shembekar kaka had assigned this work to me. Later, I thought he must have done it on purpose, for whatever reason he had in mind — and that, as it turned out, proved to be my lucky break.

"Sampat Patil had a very soft voice, quite at odds with his appearance. Not only did he speak softly, he never ordered anyone about. I asked Shembekar kaka why he'd assigned this to me, since two of the properties were in Satara. Kaka just said, 'So what? Ask him to book a taxi and go with him to the Collector's office at Satara. It's just a day trip.'

"As was our standard procedure, I asked Sampat Patil to see me the next day with whatever documents he had — in particular, his mother's will, if one had been made, her death certificate, the property card for his bungalow in Pune, and the seven-twelve extracts for his agricultural property.

"He returned the next day with the documents. His mother, luckily, had made a will stating that he was her only heir, and that all her movable and immovable belongings were willed to him, along with a list of properties. It was possible that movable assets like cash and gold could be challenged, but where the immovable assets were concerned, the case was very clear.

"I told Sampat that he should first get the latest copies of the property card for his bungalow in Pune, and the seven-twelve extracts from the concerned office in Satara. He replied that he was quite new to Pune, having lived in the US for many years, and didn't know his way around any of the offices. I would have to accompany him.

"I checked with Shembekar kaka, who told me to help him. So the next day, we went to the Talathi office by rickshaw. He was very polite throughout the trip. We submitted the request for the property card extract, paid the fees, and came back. I told him it might take a few days for the document to come through, and that meanwhile we could go to Satara to file similar requests — he should arrange a taxi. The next morning he arrived at the office in a taxi, and we set off for Satara straight away.

"On the way to Satara and back, he told me many things about his life. After finishing his engineering degree, he'd been sent to the US by his father. He did his master's there, and later found a job. Meanwhile, he lost his father back here in Pune, but he didn't return to India — only when his mother fell seriously ill was he forced to come back. To keep himself busy, he started a small factory here, making fibreglass products. The factory was getting good orders, and the work kept him occupied.

"Later, after his mother's death, he found himself alone here, and was thinking of selling off all the properties and returning to the US. Having spent so many years there, Sampat had no close friends left in India.

"It took me almost two to three months to finish all his work. In that time, we went to Satara four or five times by taxi. During those trips, we talked about many things, ate together on the way and in Satara, and as a result, became very good friends, sharing our thoughts on all sorts of subjects.

"Once my work was done, Shembekar kaka introduced Sampat to one or two estate brokers, who showed immediate interest in his properties and went ahead with the sale.

"On our last trip back from Satara, I felt Sampat had turned rather sentimental. Over tea at a hotel, he told me that since we wouldn't be meeting regularly anymore, he was going to miss me — could we at least have coffee once in a while?

"I thought it over and told him that I was a divorcee living alone, and it might not look proper for me to meet him openly in the area where I lived or worked. But if we decided to meet in the cantonment area, I could manage it. There were no mobile phones or landlines for most people back then, including us, so we had to fix appointments in advance just to meet.

"Sampat was as happy as a child that day, and said, 'Let's meet this Sunday, at a particular restaurant.' I agreed — I had, by then, started liking his company too.

"On Sunday, for no reason at all, I felt a tinge of excitement. Until then, whenever we'd met, I had always worn my pleader's black coat over my saree. That day, I decided to surprise him — I draped a chiffon saree with a sleeveless blouse, which was in fashion at the time.

"When I reached the restaurant on my scooty, I found Sampat waiting in the parking area. He saw me, and I could see the surprise in his eyes — he had probably never imagined that the black-coated lawyer lady could actually look so good.

"We walked in together like a couple, with people staring at us. We talked and talked. Sampat told me to call him Sam, and I agreed.

"Around seven, I told him I had to leave. He said yes — but only if I fixed our next meeting. After that, it became routine to meet every Sunday evening. A few weeks later, the evening tea turned into lunch.

"On one such occasion, I told Sam about my sons and my earlier life. He was very curious, asking their names and where they lived. I asked him, in turn, why he had never married. He told me that before leaving for the US, he had loved a girl, but when he didn't return, she was married off to someone else in Nagpur. In the US, he admitted frankly, he'd had a live-in arrangement with an American woman, but when he decided to return to India, she simply walked away.

"One Sunday, Sam asked whether we could watch a matinee show after lunch. I agreed. That day, Srini — for the first time in my life, a mother of two grown sons — I experienced how exciting the touch and closeness of a real man could be. We sat in the theatre close together, hand in hand, his arm around my shoulder.

"The following week, after lunch, Sam asked whether I would marry him. I told him I'd have to ask my sons first. He smiled and said okay. Later that week, I raised the subject with my sons. Both of them burst out laughing. 'Surprise for you, Mamma,' they said. 'We've been in touch with Sam for a while now. We like him very much, and we have no objection at all to having him in the family.' I was stunned. 'How is that possible?' I asked. 'After you told him about us, he tracked down our numbers in the US through his contacts and called us. We've been talking regularly ever since.'

"The next Sunday, I told him, 'So far, I considered you an honest, straightforward man. Now I know you're a real chalu gunda.' Sam laughed heartily and said that still wasn't an answer to the question he'd asked the week before. So I told him, 'You want an answer? The answer is no — no, no, no — but yes. I feel like beating you with a stick.' Then I started crying, tears of happiness rolling down my cheeks.

"Later that day, he told me he was going to take me to see his bungalow near S.B. Road. It turned out to be very grand. He showed me all the rooms, the kitchen, and finally took me to his bedroom. There, before I realised what he was doing, he pulled me towards him and kissed me on the mouth. It was a very long kiss — my first real one, if I discount whatever it was Mohan once did. We stood like that for a long time, my head resting on his chest, his arms holding me firmly.

"We announced the news at the office soon after. Kaka was truly pleased — I have a suspicion he sent Sam to me in the first place, instead of to someone else, expecting exactly this outcome.

"We were married in a civil ceremony about a month later. By then, Sam had dropped his plans to sell the bungalow and return to the US. I had already told him I would leave my job once Shembekar kaka retired. Sam had also bought a Skoda before our wedding. When I asked him why, he laughed and said he couldn't very well bring his bride home in an old Maruti.

"Srini, the next fifteen or sixteen years were the best years of my life. I had never before experienced marital bliss like that. Those years were simply fantastic.

My pre-marriage perception of Sam, being a straight forward, simple guy turned out to be quite wrong. On certain occasions, he would turn very witty also. After our marriage, sometimes in mood, he would call me as 'Peggy' (Peggy Evans was his girlfriend in US.) I first thought, he was doing it inadvertently and I neglected it. After some time I realised that he would do it to tease me intentionally. I then would get angry, which is what he wanted. After some time I would then call him as 'Mohan'. Srini! do you understand what that would mean? Anyway he would react to it and our little storm in tea cup would finally end on the bed.  

"I changed completely after marriage. Sam didn't care for sarees — he wanted me to wear jeans, which I refused, so we settled on kurta and leggings. Later, after our US trips, I started wearing jeans too. I learned to drive and began taking the Skoda out myself. Sam changed a great deal too.

"We redecorated our bungalow. So much happened in those years. Both my sons were married in Pune, with Sam officiating and insisting on fully traditional ceremonies. Their wives were fond of him too. We made two or three trips to the US and stayed with our sons. I loved our life, and believed it would never end.

"Yet, about three years ago, my beautiful world came crashing down. One morning, after breakfast, Sam suddenly collapsed. We rushed him to the hospital, but it was of no use — within a day or two, he left us forever.

"I was so depressed and lonely that my son took me to the US with him for about three months. I came back more composed, and returned to India with my other son. Together, we wound up most of what Sam had left unfinished. I sold the factory, rented out Sam's bungalow, and moved my belongings back to my old house. Then I went back to the US again.

"When I returned, I had decided to move into a senior citizens' home. But I met you two at the airport, and everything changed.

"Srini, I can't stay alone anymore. If the two of us decide to live together, it should be fine — otherwise, I'll have to move to a senior citizens' home."

Kshipra broke down, tears rolling down her cheeks. Srini got up, put her arm around Kshipra's shoulders, and kept patting her gently.

"It's okay, Kshipra." That was all she could say.

(Continued in Chapter 9)

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