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"Arrey aai kaun saloo maari gayu…" the morning rented with Rustomjee's
exclamations followed by some choicest expletives. "Naajamai oh
Naajamai", he bellowed, "arrey saloo jauvni koi maari gaari ne takkar
maari gayu, where were you when this happened?" Naajamai scuttled
out as soon as she could, considering her considerable girth needed
a lot of maneuvering through her narrow door. "Oh maai re, Rustom,
sum khaai ne kevch u to barabar watch rakhti thi". Her life depended
on it. It was decades, rather scores of decades since they had lived
together as neighbours in Jamshed Baug. Naajamai, a sprightly seventy
year old now, used to work with an accounting firm till she turned
fiftyeight and then was shown the door. Her friends were far and
few and today Naajamai was lonely, as lonely as can be except for
her eccentric neighbour Rustom, who had unofficially appointed Naaja
as his old Fiat's watchdog.
Naajamai had had a happy, middleclass childhood. She had lived all
her life in this very block in Jamshed Baug. Now an ageing, rounded
septuagenarian spinster, she was a pretty young thing once. She
was her parents, only daughter, she had everything going for her,
a Shorthand certificate too, which in her days was the passport
to a 'majeni secretary ni naukri', except for a milky white 'bawa'
complexion. Alas, Naajamai was dark, as dark as 'parjat'. Her parents
searched far and wide for suitors, but one look at her and they
went, 'ghani saamri chhe'. That was the end of it. Naajamai was
made to bathe with the choicest saffron and milk daily, in fact
her father's fair share of the salary went in buying the best spain
nu kesar available. Her maasi and mother went to pirs and fakirs
and spent small fortunes on potions and lotions, and her erstwhile
mother rubbed them onto her daughter's ebony skin with all her might
every single day. Naajamai drank bitter concoctions of neem and
every imaginable herb supposed to have fairness properties with
a resigned look, sans any complaining. But needless to say the 'parjat'
complexion stayed. Years clung onto her and once she turned forty,
the hunt for a groom cooled down, her parents too passed away leaving
her comfortably off with their savings and such.
Naajamai performed her present duties most conscientiously, humans
let alone, she wouldn't even let a dog or a crow shower the car
with their long digested meals. And why not, after all it was her
only job, after she finished cooking for herself at eight in the
morning she had little else to do. Rustomjee on the other hand,
was a busy old man, he sold insurance and had a morose look about
him, reminding good-for-nothing people "tamari taarikh aavi gayeech".
A cynical, bitter Rustomjee was left alone in the world after his
wife's death forty years ago. Naajamai and Rustomjee wouldn't ever
dream of acknowledging each other as friends but that is what they
were. Neither could do without the other, but didn't know it themselves.
Right now Rustomjee was furious at his friend " You better get your
cataract checked Naajamai, and don't eat so much dhansak that you
snooze through the day…useless, utterly useless, I should have known
better than to entrust my car to a lazy, old sob like you!" All
Naajamai could do was interject the tirade with a sob and a sniffle.
Rustomjee, tired of his own rage went in his house slamming the
door hard behind him.
"Saala gaanda Parsio, kharekhar dus maathi agiyar gaanda, te barabar
chhe, Naajamai dhansak khaai ne jhoku khaai gaya ose, useless, seriously
self-help is the best help. This is what happens when you depend
on people", muttered Rustomjee. He was dying for his customary cup
of tea which he shared with Naajamai, everyday at this time. The
cup of tea was their time to exchange trivial news; Naajamai absorbed
Rustomjee's daily frustrations with her comparatively cheerful world
view.
"I can very well make my own tea, can't I." said Rustomjee as he
set about banging his utensils. But his tea lacked the spice, was
it insipid because of the taste or the lack of Naaja's company?
As he sipped his tea, he was reminded of her hurt expression earlier
on. Rustomjee regretted his earlier angry outburst. But he had never
said sorry to anyone in his life, and he was not about to start
now.
At the ring of the door bell, Naajamai's spirits soared. With wings
on her feet, she rushed to the door, not unlike any teenager rushing
to meet her first love after a mushy fight. "Aavke?" Rustomjee gruffly
asked, Naajamai moved to make room for him, suddenly tongue-tied
and coy. "Amnaaj chaai mukich", she managed. The simple ritual of
having a cup of tea at dusk, at the dusk of their lives had never
been more sweeter. "Biji su khabar, Rustom?" asked Naajamai, as
Rustomjee launched into detailed description of his day. The setting
sun smiled at these two, dusk doesn't have to be so gloomy after
all.
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