9. OS 20. The Temperamental Tyrant (Part 9)

Part 9

Arnav looked up as Anjali pushed open the door and entered his room. She had a tray in her hand.

He frowned as he stood up, took the tray from her and placed it on the laptop table.

Where was Khushi?

He had been looking forward to spending more time with her.

His spine tingled. His intuition warned him against an instinctive, impulsive reaction. Something was going on here. Something serious. Or his di wouldn’t be caught dead doing housework.

“Why are you here, di?” he asked, taking care to keep his voice mellow and tone disinterested. “You must have found the steps difficult. You should have sent the tea with HP or Khushi.”

Anjali blinked.

Chotey sounded very casual, almost...bored. Nani couldn’t be right. Chotey was a Raizada. He would never lower himself to take interest in a dehati, anpad, poverty-stricken maid, that too from Lucknow.

She heaved a sigh of relief. Yeh nani bhi na! She was going senile.

“Yes, the steps were troublesome,” Anjali admitted, “but nani asked me to serve you.”

Arnav tensed. Nani!

He turned away from Anjali to hide his furious face.

Thankfully his phone rang that very moment and he moved out of the room to talk to Aman.

Anjali left the room.

                                                                ***

Arnav came down for dinner, his watchful eyes on his nani who seemed more dismayed than delighted that her reclusive grandson was willing to join his family for a meal.

Before nani could order HP that he serve dinner and Khushi be kept away from the dining room, Khushi entered the dining hall and began to set the table.

Arnav quickly took his seat.

Pretending to look at his phone, he watched his family.

Mama, mami and Akash had no idea what was going on. Nani seemed very upset. Di was trying to calm her down with speaking glances.

Khushi began setting gold-rimmed plates before each family member gathered around the table, delighted that Arnavji was becoming more human and spending time with his family.

As she reached Arnav, he called loudly, clearly, “Khushi?”

All faces turned to look at him, with varying expressions of enquiry and panic.

“I need a glass of warm water,” he said mildly, a smile in his eyes that only Khushi could see. “After dinner.”

She smiled and said, “Ji.” She moved away and Arnav pretended to check his mail while watching his family.

Mama, mami and Akash were totally relaxed, laughing at a joke mami had cracked.

Di looked relieved.

Nani had a waxen complexion.

Arnav watched closely as nani picked at her food and sat silently at the table, pensive and brooding.

HP and Khushi served the dishes efficiently, working as a team.

The mystery unravelled after dinner, when Arnav joined them in the living room.

Khushi came in with a glass of warm water and placed it on the table before him. 

He nodded his thanks. She walked away.

He looked at his nani to catch her looking at him. She looked away hastily. He looked at the display of his phone.

Mami lifted her legs with a contented sigh and sat cross legged on her plush chair. She told mama, “And I told Mrs. Mehta, you may be Dilli’s booty princesswaa, but I am Lucknow’s booty queenwaa, hello hi bye bye.”

Mama chuckled. Akash and Anjali smiled.

HP placed a glass of warm milk with saffron in it before mami and left.

She took it with a cry of pleasure and began slurping it, uttering words of appreciation in between.

As Arnav watched, nani’s face turned dark with displeasure. With contempt, she admonished, “Are you a child, Manorama? Act your age and position.”

Mami stopped slurping and stared at her mother-in-law, her painted eyes wide in surprise.

Mama, Akash and Anjali looked at nani and then at mami, uncomfortable. The air in the room became tense. Unsaid and old resentment and complaints filled the room.

Arnav watched closely.

Mami’s eyes fell first. She placed the half-full glass on the tray, threw a vicious glance at her helpless husband and got up to leave.

Nani leaned back, triumphant.

“Sit down, mami. You haven’t finished your milk,” Arnav said quietly.

All stared at him, shocked.

Mami sagged back in her chair, more out of amazement that Arnav had spoken than a desire to sit with the family.

Arnav addressed the elephant in the room. “Nani, mami came to your house to work as a maid. Mama fell in love with her,” he said.

“Chotey, bas keejiye,” nani thundered.

But he was Arnav Singh Raizada, a bulldozer, an unstoppable train, a typhoon that uprooted the very foundation of pretense and deceit.

“After months of raising a furore over what you saw as mama’s disgrace, his ingratitude and thanklessness towards his family and his open rebellion against the tenets of your family, you and nana agreed to the marriage. You conducted the marriage in as private a manner as possible with ill will in your heart. You didn’t want her as your daughter-in-law and expected the marriage to fall apart, given the differences between mama and mami. But their relationship endured. It has been twenty-eight years, but you still think of mami as beneath you. You still think her a usurper, an intruder, an unwanted part of the family.” His tone was flat, his voice quiet, but the words were firmly spoken and completely meant.

Akash’s eyes glistened with tears as he looked at his superhero bhai defending his mother.

Tears poured down mami’s cheeks, wetting and spreading the inches of makeup she had piled on. Her kajal was, unfortunately, not waterproof.

“Bas karo, Manno,” mama said softly, patting mami’s hand and trying to console her.

“You are crossing the limits, Chotey,” nani warned.

“Chotey, tum chup raho,” Anjali pleaded.

But Arnav wasn’t done. In a mellow conversational tone, he continued, “You married off your daughter to a well-to-do, respected family living in one of the biggest havelis in Lucknow.”

“No, Chotey,” Anjali implored.

“Arnav bitwaa, bhy speak of old tragedies?” mami tried to stop him from self-flagellation.

But Arnav continued, “And how did that go?”

He waited for nani to respond. She remained silent.

He went on, “That marriage succeeded so spectacularly that they both died in the worst ways possible, their children had to change their names and run away from Lucknow and the Mallik name has become synonymous with debauchery and infidelity.”

He met nani’s eyes directly. “Mami stepped into our mother’s place. And she gave me her entire cache of jewellery so that i could start a business. I can and will never forget her kindness,” he said quietly.

“Arnav bitwaa,” mami protested.

“She stood with us when the whole world laughed at us and rejoiced in our fall. You might remember that the next time you are tempted to rebuke her for not being born a Raizada,” he reminded nani.

Satisfied that he had made his point loud and clear, he walked away.