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| September (First) 2010 |
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| DELHI PRESS MAGAZINES : WOMAN'S ERA |
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WOMAN'S ERA /
FICTION (2/21) / PRIYADARSHINI WILLS HER BILLIONS - PART II
Priyadarshini Wills Her Billions - Part II
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| Business tycoon Ansh and his wife Anjali, after their return from their honeymoon, settled down happily in Mumbai, as desired by Anjali. Things were very fine for a while, but then arose a problem... |
| By Anoop Verma |
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The cobbled tree-lined driveway, meandering through the lawn, carpeted with soft green grass, and dotted by flowers in geometric patterns, turned around a rock garden with a miniature waterfall cascading over moss-covered rocks. Beyond the rock garden there was the house, a rectangular
2-storey structure, with multiple gables of red tiles glowing like a giant rose in full bloom. On the sandstone walls, windows using huge sheets of glass were a perpetual invitation to sunlight and creepers which twirling around the colonnades seemed to moor the edifice firmly to the earth.
“You like it,” said Ansh reacting to Anjali's gasp of delight.
“As a child I used to dream that someday I would live in such a house,” said she wistfully.
“Your dream has come true. This is your house now,” said Ansh.
During the month-long honeymoon in Switzerland Anjali had been able to convince Ansh that on returning to India they should go to Mumbai instead of Kolkata. A few hours ago, they had landed at Mumbai airport where a string of cars had been waiting to drive them and their luggage to their house.
“I can hear the sea,” said Anjali.
“The sea is just beyond the bungalow. Want to see it?” asked Ansh.
They walked to the back of the house. Their house was on higher ground and a few metres below, the sea crashing against huge boulders lining the shore was spraying the air with foam. Anjali thought of the 2-room flat where she had been born and brought up, and was momentarily overwhelmed by the sheer magnificence of the way her life had been transformed. The palatial house, the magnificent lawns, the birds singing on the trees, even the air she breathed, the sunlight that warmed her skin, the sea ebbing and soaring on the rocks below, all had become a part of her domain. She could not wait to see more of what she owned. “Take me inside the house,” she panted.
Taking a look around the magnificent hall, she murmured appreciatively, “Hmm, that is a beautiful chandelier.”
“Badi-ma bought it on one of her trips to Italy,” said Ansh.
“I will buy a new one.”
“But I thought you liked it.”
“Well, suddenly I don't,” said she glibly. “Chandeliers, sofas, curtains, artifacts, furniture, I will change everything. I will fit this house with things of my choice.”
“It is the wife's prerogative to decorate the house,” said he sportingly.
The butler walked in with a team of men and women — cooks, gardeners, chauffeurs, watchmen, maids, and other sundry employees. It was time to introduce the mistress of the house to the employees under her. “Oh, introductions can wait till later,” said Anjali gaily. “I am here for a long time.”
Anjali had still not forgiven Badi-ma for being contemptuous of her middle-class lineage. With a vengeance, she went about clearing the house of everything that had been bought by Badi-ma and replacing them with things of her own choice. Every day saw a new whirl of activity at the Bilal house. Truckloads of new furniture, artifacts, carpets and other items arrived, while the old things were shunted out.
Anjali spent money like water in the most exclusive shops of the city and in foreign countries. The hippest interior decorators advised her on the latest trends. Ansh let her have her way, it pleased him no end to see his wife redoing their home. In two month's time, when the house was finally done to Anjali's satisfaction, she laughed, “I have squandered a king's ransom.”
“You have spent much less than what you could have,” answered Ansh nonchalantly.
At 10 am next day, Anjali was in the living room, reminiscing about the merry moments of yesterday's party when the butler came to say, “There is a call from Kolkata.”
Thinking the phone was from Badi-ma, Anjali was struck numb with terror. When they had returned from Switzerland three months before, Ansh had made a phone call to Badi-ma to tell her that they would be staying in Mumbai for some time. They had not made any calls after that, and to Anjali's immense satisfaction, there had been no call from Badi-ma either. Why has she called now? she wondered.
She took the phone from the butler. Lakhani's voice came over the wire, “Hello.”
Anjali was somewhat relieved that the phone was not from Badi-ma. “Ansh is exercising in the garden,” she answered.
“Oh, it is you Anjali?” said Lakhani warmly. “How is life in Mumbai?”
Anjali felt he was taking a liberty with her by calling her Anjali. “We are doing fine.”
“Page three columns are full of photographs from your yesterday's party.”
Anjali was impatient to know why Lakhani had called. Was Badi-ma hatching a conspiracy to get them back to Kolkata? “Why have you called?” she asked curtly. “I am sure it was not because you wanted to tell me about my Page three photographs.”
If Lakhani was rattled by her brusque manner, his voice didn't show. He sounded cool when he said, “I have to discuss a business matter with Ansh.”
“I will give him your message when he comes inside.”
“Ask him to call me back urgently.”
Anjali disconnected the line. In 15 minutes Ansh came inside, his T-shirt and Bermuda shorts drenched in sweat. “I made 11 rounds of the garden today,” he panted. “That is two more than yesterday.”
Anjali did not respond. He noticed her glum expression and asked, “What happened?”
“Lakhani called. I think he was less than polite with me. He called me Anjali. Why should he call me by my first name?'
“You are right. He should have called you Mrs Bilal.”
“I am sure he thinks nothing of us,” said Anjali spitefully. “He is all puffed up because he is close to Badi-ma. When we were in Kolkata I used to hear him call you Ansh. Why should he call you Ansh when the other employees call you Sir or Mr Bilal? You deserve respect. After all, you pay his salary.”
Her words had the effect of adding fuel to the fire, for Ansh disliked Lakhani. “I will give this guy a piece of my mind. I don't care if he is Badi-ma's blue-eyed boy. I deserve respect from all my employees and so does my wife.” Ansh picked up the phone lying on the side table.
Anjali had not been expecting such a swift reaction. She developed cold feet, as she had no idea where a row between her husband and Lakhani might lead. “Don't call him now,” she gulped.
“Why not? He needs to be shown his place.”
“If you scold Lakhani, he is sure to go to Badi-ma.”
“So what?” Ansh, eager to prove to his young wife that he was not awed by the likes of Lakhani, dialled the number. “You called a few minutes ago,” he said brusquely into the mouthpiece. Anjali listened with unease as he berated Lakhani. “Listen I don't care for what reason you called….the thing is you have grown too big for your boots… How come you are calling my wife by her first name? To all my employees she is Madam or Mrs Bilal and I am Sir or Mr Bilal… don't you forget your place in my family, Lakhani. I have tolerated you for too long, but my patience isn't infinite… If you don't change your ways you can start looking for a new job...” He banged the phone back on the cradle.
Anjali thought that he had sounded churlish, but she said, “You have done well in showing him his place.”
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