“You just want reasons to carry her around,” Ritu observed behind Gautam’s back. She had known him briefly over video calls after MM’s birth and their wedding, and in-person only recently. But Ritu had spent enough of a lifetime around various species of men to sense that this one was a rare kind. Sensible, soft-spoken, responsible, kind. A man who could take another man’s child and make her his own. Then never utter a word about it. To the point that Ritu began to believe that Megha was more his than Maya’s.
“I am being a perfect gentleman,” Gautam smirked over his shoulder, laying another kiss on his daughter’s cheek. “Isn’t it?”
“Ahem ahem,” Maya cleared her throat.
“As trained by my wife, of course,” he parroted, stepping inside the gates of his office just as the lights decorating it lit to life. The dusk was dark, but wasn't depressing for a change. Diwali dusks never depressed her. The rest of the year — absolutely. But today was a happy evening. Diwali evening. ‘Chopda Poojan atMade in Mumbai,’ as Maya liked to call it; and ‘Chopda Poojan atGK Textiles,’ as Gautam had quietly corrected behind her back. They had also hosted an award ceremony with a crazy Dundee Awards twist last night.
She smiled at the people teeming around them now, employees Maya couldn't stop chattering with. Gautam was heading straight inside with MM.
“There are mosquitoes outside,” he informed her. “Can you hold her so that I can run up to my office and grab her bouncer?”
“What about my saree now?” Ritu cocked an eyebrow.
Gautam gaped at her, then at the window behind her, lit with divas, from where Maya was clearly visible. “You know, I thought you were the normal one.”
Ritu grinned, reaching for MM, who came willingly to her. The first few days, it had been a task to pry her away from her father. Now, she was beginning to recognise her.
“Hi, GoohGooh,” Ritu nuzzled their noses together.
“What’s that name?”
“That’s the sound she makes the most!”
Gautam was already rolling his eyes and striding up the staircase.
“Hi, Ritu Madam,” one of their employees greeted her. The tailor who had worked on her blouse at record speed.
“Hi!” Ritu greeted, holding MM close as the final touches were made around her — rangoli, flowers, garlands for the doors, oil diyas lighting. Everybody was in their finest Indian wear. She suspected designer wear, but then, this was a glamorous place. She wouldn’t recognise designers but she recognised quality. GK Textiles was Gautam’s textile trading company that had been founded a decade ago. Recently, he had expanded into fabric designing or something of that sort with his brand Made in Mumbai. Maya had been hired as one of the textile designers on his team. This converted Portuguese bungalow served as their collective office, and Ritu soaked in the vibes — edgy, creative, and wholly 100%Mumbai. She couldn’t imagine a textile company in New York housed in a space like this.
“Will you grow up to design clothes like your Dada and Mumma or become a doctor like Maasi?” She kissed MM’s cheek. “God, I could eat your cheeks. You are a rasgulla! My favourite rasgulla,” Ritu nibbled her cheek with a closed mouth, and she made those happy chortles, hiding her face in her shoulder, gummy mouth ready to bite her affection away. Ritu laughed, flicking her face to get the bangs falling into her eyes away.
“Cue — 1, 2, 3!” Maya announced from somewhere, and her patent music lit to life.
Jab jab chudi khanke re… jab jab payal chanke re… jab jab saawan barse re…
“This one’s for my Maasi who is back fromvilayat!” She held up her hand. Ritu glared at her. Whichever folks were unfortunate enough to be around them were compelled to applaud. Loudly.
Hoye bole bole bole bole bole bole bole haaye jiyaa…
“Piya piya o piya piya!” Maya sang along, breaking into that god-awful hook step that they had mastered together once upon a cringeworthy time. “Come on, Maasi!”
“You are crazy!”
“Subah-shaam kare mera jiya…”
MM was clapping her hands together. Ritu chuckled, jostling her, going down in a wave to match the song and make her go off again.
“Piya piya o piya piya,” Ritu sang to her, the little girl such a Maya’s girlie girl as she enjoyed every moment. Her bangs stuck to her face and she flicked them again. They refused to move. Her hands tied around MM, Ritu flicked harder again and found herself face to face with a chest. A man. In a suit. For a Diwali Pooja.
She glanced up and was shocked that she wasn't surprised at all. Obnoxious manners, obnoxious dressing.
“Hello, Doctor.”
2. Chori Pe Chori, Ek Dakaiti Aur Seenazori
— RITU —
The man was obnoxious. Wearing a black on black suit and standing here in front of her on a festive night, looking likeshewas not dressed for the occasion. There was that bored, condescending expression in his gaze again, half-hooded. Always half-hooded. At first, she had taken it as a side effect of his recent attack. Now, she knew better.
