21, Elphinstone Road

The doorbell rang just as Aruna had thrown in a fistful of ground chili powder into the cauliflower curry she was preparing. Muttering a little under her breath, for she was pressed for time, she glanced at the little silver clock on the drawing room mantelpiece as she hurried out to open the door. There stood the delivery boy from her favourite grocer's, bringing with him a huge brick of strawberry ice cream - dessert for tonight's housewarming party that Somesh and Aruna were throwing for a few select friends. That the 'few select friends' they had initially decided on soon ballooned into a intimidating list of over a dozen business associates and office friends had not deterred Aruna, as she meticulously planned for the big day, her pride in showing off the spacious two-bedroom luxurious apartment they had bought recently overshadowing all the hours of effort and the half day she would have to take off from work. Somesh and Aruna had been married for almost a year now; while Somesh owned a production company, a small venture that had grown into a full fledged business, Aruna worked as a manager in a small advertising agency. Though the sizes of their respective businesses were small, they managed to pocket a tidy sum in savings each month, and Somesh had taken another loan from the bank, shown as equipment purchase, which he had then diverted towards purchasing this property. Aruna smiled to herself as she threw in some more ground coconut in the blender to prepare the paste for the curry - they had a lovely house, and Aruna was sure that Mrs. Khan, the arrogant wife of the promoter of Somesh's company would feel jealous. Aruna had done up the interiors of their flat herself. While the main drawing room was dressed in soft hues of the brown family - orange, chrome and ochre - with silk curtains and a beautiful chocolate-coloured velvet sofa, their bedroom was a mix-n-match between light blue and red (she had read somewhere that blue was good for hormonal control and red was sure to excite the senses romantically). The guestroom was decorated in a paisley of lively green and yellow. Aruna had spent a mini-fortune on matching curtains, bedspreads, cushions, coasters and table covers before finally getting all combinations right - and for today's party, she had placed little scented floating candles (all colour coordinated, of course) in all the rooms - like she had seen on an Oprah Winfrey show once. Aruna thought her house looked beautiful. Lost in her reverie of analyzing her shopping for the past month, she almost forgot to switch off the blender - and as she removed the cap and took in the smell of freshly grated coconut mixing with zeera and garlic, she felt that this party would be a resounding success. It mattered to Somesh more, she thought, because he was depending on this party for establishing more contacts to expand his 'network'. The doorbell rang again- heavens! Was it five thirty already - she hurried out and opened the door to a grinning Somesh, holding a bunch of irises in his hand. “Thank god you could come early…I need some help,” said Aruna as she walked over to the steel and chrome finish refrigerator and poured him a glass of cold water. “Yes I know, dear,” replied a smiling Somesh, “I'll go and set up the bar - don't worry,” he said, between gulping mouthfuls of water. “Oh, and could you also place these flowers in the big crystal vase there?” said Aruna, pointing with the ladle to a transparent glass vase kept in a corner of the kitchen cabinet. “And make sure you cut across the flower stems diagonally, fill the vase only to half its capacity with water, and put a spoonful of salt in the water too…” she petered off as she held up the lid of the large kadhai in which butter chicken bubbled away furiously and started mixing it. “Why salt? The flowers like nimbu pani…do they?” chuckled Somesh, and walked away with the vase, while Aruna glared at him. “Just do as I say,” she called out, while she looked around for the butter knife to spoon out some more butter into the chicken, certain that Somesh had pocketed it to cut off the flower stems, not realizing its functionality. It was almost eight by the time the first guests arrived, though the party invites said seven thirty. It was Mr. Khan, and his wife Neelima Khan - the promoters of Somesh's company - holding a rather ostentatious bottle of red wine and a box of imported chocolates. Mrs. Khan, noted Aruna with some disdain, with her stub nose crinkled up, had an expression of extreme dissatisfaction on her face. “Why dear, I…you should have given us more specific directions to the place…we got lost thrice while coming here,” she said, showing off dentist-white pearly teeth. “But we had them printed on the back of the invites - and those were quite clear,” replied Aruna, without missing a beat, as she ushered them into the hall - the main drawing room. “What a lovely house,” said Mr. Khan, in a voice that reeked of boredom, and his wife followed suit in the same nasal tone. Aruna refused to believe their bored faces - why no comment on the décor, the lighting (specially the Moroccan artifact lamp she had picked up at Crawford Market for a steal) and the location of the place? “So how did you like the place?” asked Somesh when the Khans were ensconced in one corner of the velvet sofa. “It's umm…a little farther from where we thought it would be and the approach road is a tad…Umm…not so good, I would say,” boomed Mr. Khan in his baritone. “Yes, it's a little far moved from the main Elphinstone market and…” started Somesh, and as if on cue, a local train rushed by in the distance, drowning out Somesh's voice and sending small slivers of vibrations over the house, the noise fading away in seconds. “Well…that's the local station, right behind us - fast trains cross that particular track - the noise seems amplified at night, isn't it great?” said a smiling Somesh, ignoring the expression of blatant disbelief on the Khans' faces (Just exactly where did these people live, thought Mrs. Khan). Aruna, who was seated on the arm of the chair that Somesh was occupying, placed a hand on his shoulder and said fondly, “Yes, in fact, staying in Mumbai, one gets so used to this sound - we've almost grown fond of it - and it was one of the reasons why we bought this place, its proximity to the station and the fact that we can listen to trains going by all the time, you know…” and she ruffled Somesh's hair while the doorbell rang again and she got up to see who it was. During the course of the entire evening, noted a stiff faced Mrs. Khan, there were a total of almost 18 trains an hour, a fast train every 3-4 minutes. A conversation, she noted, took about 10 minutes to warm up, with decent pauses for the other person to digest the information and think of something better to ask. Which meant that while the conversation started in between two trains - the space when golden silence seemed to fill the room temporarily and there was some semblance of normalcy - unfortunately, it could never quite warm up as the next local would take along with it the other person's train of thought too, leaving them to waste precious time and energy in raking up the last thread of communication. She sat, stony faced, with a glass of Chantilli in her hand, trying to make polite disconnected remarks at 3 minute intervals to Mrs. Malhotra, the wife of Aruna's boss, who too, seemed a little strained, and who kept placing one hand on her temple - as if she had a headache. The only happy souls in the august gathering were the hosts, cheerfully serving guests, especially Aruna, who mistook the silence and slight reservations of her guests to be nerves and intimidation by the way the house looked. She forced Sikander, Somesh's long time associate (his biggest client and the head of a large advertising agency) to have another hariyali kebab as he stood in one corner, holding a half empty glass of Scotch, with a mournful expression on his face. None of the guests were close enough to Aruna or Somesh to actually comment on the mis-location of the apartment - they dropped subtle hints like you-must-have-got-this-cheap, or the-sound-of-the-trains-is-quite-loud-isn't-it to which Aruna replied that the builder was actually a friend of her dad's, and he had recommended this place to them, and no, it wasn't cheap, it was a staggering half a crore (well, it did sound better than 50 lakhs!) and they both loved the sound of the trains, commenting on how energetic it made them feel, this marvelous wonder of human invention and the backbone of Mumbai public transport - didn't they love it too? Later, when dinner was laid (it was almost ten thirty, and Aruna seemed a little surprised at the eagerness that Kavita, Somesh's assistant, displayed while helping her warm the dishes in the microwave), Somesh put on some soft jazz music, hoping to spark off some conversation between his guests who looked jaded and ensconced in their own compartments. But as dinner was announced, they all made a beeline towards the table, grabbed their Luminarc plates and dished out the first curry they laid their hands on - and started eating furiously. Aruna thought they were all very hungry probably - though some of them refused the veg pulao and dessert too, saying they had a lovely time, and had to be back home early (most of them said their kids were waiting, or were alone) - while Somesh thought it was probably the time of the night which had prompted them to leave, or the fact that Aruna had mixed up the wrong people for the party. Much later, when Aruna was faced with a pile of uneaten rotis, and a huge mound of untouched curry, she sat down and cried, saying that people just didn't understand, did they, “What can we do if their house isn't as neat as ours,” and Somesh just nodded and placed her head on his shoulder as another local train went chugging by in the distance. (May 19, 2005)