Indian Wife in the Prison of Spring

"Hehe." she smiled.

Although she had initially been disappointed to see him there, as time went by, she got used to his presence. Dutt was a very charming old man, great at conversations.

"Eight years...do you like it here?" he asked.

"It is what it is." she shrugged.

"I can never get used to Bombay, although I have been coming here for decades. The humidity, the crowds, the smells...it's all so overwhelming."

"Yes, that it is."

"Very different from Meerut, huh?"

"Very different."

That's when Reena came out with a class of juice for Mansi.

"Don't tell me you are chewing her ear off already, Duttsahab." she said jovially. "Mansi, this man can talk the paint off the walls."

She laughed, as did Dutt. Mansi politely joined in as she took the juice.

"So...I have my two dear old friends here. I wish we could go out for lunch. But I have a ticking clock. So I just ordered some room service for us. Hope that is okay."

"Of course." Mansi said. She was looking forward to whatever yummy pricey food aunty would order now.

"By the way, Duttsahab is a business tycoon in Delhi. He owns factories, theaters, retail stores, and what else I am sure even he can't remember."

"Don't embarrass me, Reena." Dutt smiled with false modesty. "It's just god's grace. Nothing more. What business is your husband into, Mansi?"

"He isn't in business. He is a college professor. History."

"Oh history? It was my favorite subject in school. If I hadn't gotten into business, I too would have ended up in the world of history. I need to meet professor sahab sometime and pick his brains. What is his specialty?"

"World war 2."

"Oh, I love that topic. Blitz Krieg. Battle of the Bulge. Vichy France. The siege of..."

Mansi winced a little bit, which Reena noticed.

"Yes yes Duttsahab. you are very learned. Stop it." she jumped in.

"What happened? Did I say something wrong?"

"She is married to a history professor. I am sure she gets to hear all this non stop. Don't bore her more."

Again the two laughed. And Mansi joined in.

"Is it true, Mansi? Do you find history boring?" Dutt asked looking into the demure housewife's eyes.

"Not boring as such." Mansi said shrugging. "But you know, when you keep hearing about it all the time..."

"I understand. We shall drop the subject at once. What are your interests? What are your...passions?" Dutt said that last word with a little bit of passion in it himself.

Reena said to herself, take it easy, old man. Don't overdo it.

"My interests?" Mansi was taken aback.

"Yes, what do you love? What excites you?"

He looked at her as did Reena. Mansi couldn't think of anything to say. No one had asked her this before. She herself hadn't really thought about it ever. The only life she knew was of a housewife and a mother.

"My daughter."

"That's not what I am talking about. Everyone is passionate about their kids. I have three of them myself. Two daughters and a son. With kids of their own. What i am asking you is, outside of your family and your commitments and responsibilities, what excites you?"

Mansi had no answer.

"Will you stop grilling her, Duttsahab?" Reena reached over and slapped him on his arm. "That's the problem with you tycoons. Every interaction is an interview."

"It's okay." Mansi smiled. "I just haven't thought about it."

"Ok, here's an old test. Let's say someone gave you unlimited amounts of money. After buying a great house, setting aside money for kids etc etc. What would you spend it on?"

"Tra..."

"Don't say travel. Everyone likes to travel."

That's when there was a knock on the door.

"The food is here." Reena said and got up to open it. "Let's move to the dining table."

A waiter came in with a trolley of food.as Mansi and Dutt walked to the ornate glass table by the edge of the suite. As he started uncovering and putting the bowls on the table, Mansi realized that it was Chinese food. She liked Chinese food. The kind they had from street carts once in a while at Pinky's insistence. But this looked very different.

"Please, have a seat." Reena said. "I hope you like Chinese food, Mansi. This is real Chinese food from our hotel's highly rated restaurant. The chef is from Shanghai."

Mansi nodded absent-mindedly like she was thinking of something else. The waiter put big plates out and started serving them noodles, a couple of different chicken dishes, and some appetizers.

"Paintings." Mansi suddenly said.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" the waiter asked.

"Dutt sahab." she turned to him. "If I had an unlimited amount of money, I would buy paintings. Maybe even buy a museum. Buy a lot of art supplies and spend the whole day painting."

"Ah, that's the kind of answer I was looking for." he gently touched the back of her chair. "So you are an artist?"

"No. I wouldn't say that." she blushed. "I just like to draw and paint. Your favorite subject in school was history. Mine was arts and crafts. I always won a lot of prizes in school contests."

For the first time since that chocolate lava cake, Reena saw a spark of life on Mansi's face. And although initially she had thought Dutt was being too aggressive, she was impressed at how quickly he had put Mansi at ease.

"So why didn't you pursue it as a career?"

"Pursue art? Forget art, pursue a career?" Mansi smiled sadly. "I don't come from that kind of a family."

"I understand." Dutt sagely nodded. "My own father was very rigid. Anyway, who are your favorite artists? Impresionists? Dadaists? Cubists?"

Mansi felt uncomfortable. He was trying to impress her but she didn't really know any of these words.

"I...I never really learned about art. I don't know the terms and all that. I just know that when I see a painting I like, I like it. A few years ago my husband and I went to an exhibition of Hussain saab. Those were nice."

Dutt gauged her level of knowledge and course-corrected.

"After all, that is what art truly is. Something that speaks to your heart. That's why you can't spell heart without art."

Reena felt like laughing at that corny line, but Mansi seemed to like it.

"Very true."

Dutt nodded and started eating. So did Reena. The waiter had left by then. Mansi looked around the plate. There was no fork or spoon. Just a pair of fancy looking wooden chopsticks. She looked at her two companions. Both were eating with the chopsticks very expertly. The street Chinese food always came with cutlery. She had seen people use chopsticks on food shows on TV but never really had to use them.

"Aunty..." she awkwardly said.

"Yes, dear?" Reena pretended like she didn't know what was going to be the request. It had been Dutt idea, with the assumption that a small town middle class woman would not know how to use chopsticks.

"Is there any cutlery? I can't..." she pointed to the chopsticks.

"Oh god. Those idiot waiters. I told them to bring cutlery as well. Everything has to be told a dozen times." Reena got up and went to the phone.

Mansi again felt out of place as she saw Dutt effortlessly eating even rice with the chopsticks. He looked at her and smiled.

"It is very easy, Mansi." he said. "Here, do what I tell you."

Mansi picked up the chopsticks.

"Now, put one like this sliding from the base of your thumb to the middle of your ring finger. Yes. Like that. Now hold the other one like a pen between the tip of your thumb and index fingers. Yes. Now click them together. Yes. Very good. Now try to lift something."

Mansi followed the instructions exactly. But the sticks slid out of her grip. She tried again.

"Here, let me help you." Dutt said.

And before Mansi could say anything, was swiftly standing behind her, leaning down. he put his big hairy right hand on hers. She felt his breath against her ears as he said.

"Now...one stick like that. Another like that. Relax, it's very easy. You are an artist. This is easier than painting a circle."

Mansi felt an odd sensation as the old stranger's big rough fingers pressed gently on her smooth small ones. She wasn't exactly used to male touch from anyone other than her husband. And even with her husband, actual touching happened very infrequently. But she ignored the strange feeling and focused on the chopsticks.

"Yes, now...try to pick up that dumpling. Yes...perfect. See how easily it comes up? Easier than with a spoon. Now slowly...slowly...open your mouth."

Reena was watching as she was on the phone pretending to ask for cutlery. Again, she was impressed by Dutt's charm and skills. Here was a demure chaste middle class housewife being touched from so close by a man over twice her age. And yet there was nothing in the situation that would make her protest or take offense. It was all set up very naturally.

Mansi's hand, guided by Dutt's slowly put the dumpling in her mouth. Dutt looked at the nervous pretty face right next to his. And felt a surge of thrill and arousal.

"Mmmmmm..." Mansi said happily as she bit into a delicious prawns dumpling. Better than anything you got on the streets.

Looking at her effusive happy expression, Dutt had the strongest desire to make some kind of a move. Maybe try to kiss her. But he restrained himself. Reena had been right. With this one, things had to progress slowly. He could risk upsetting the balance.

So he took his hand off hers and slid back into his seat. Mansi felt a little relieved by that. Although she very naively did not doubt his intentions as anything but helpful, she was getting uncomfortable by the prolonged proximity to another man.

"You're right. This is very easy once you get the hang of it." she said with childlike glee as she rolled up a bunch of noodles and slurped them. And giggled.

Reena came back to see Mansi enjoying her food. Cutlery wasn't mentioned at all.

-------------

The lunch proceeded smoothly with a lot of conversations between the three of them. Reena talked frequently about Dutt's businesses and his contacts and his influence, which was always followed by Dutt acting very modest and self-effacing. He instead was more intent on talking to Mansi. And he was so charming and easy-going about it that the young housewife found herself not feeling as out of place as she was earlier. Dutt talked to her a lot about art, the different styles of painting, and so on. Mansi listened like a young student.

Dutt also peppered his art lecture with a few questions about Mansi's own life, her upbringing, her likes and dislikes. The more she talked, the more Dutt was able to get a complete picture of her personality and her psyche. She was a very simple, traditional, and conventional middle class housewife, but she was also hiding a deep sense of dissatisfaction with her life. Was that dissatisfaction merely financial and situational? Or was there something physical in it too? He would have to figure out how to gauge that without scaring her off. He began making a mental list of other small tricks and tactics he could use going forward.

When they finally got done with lunch, Reena pointed her to the bathroom to wash up. After stepping in and closing the door, Mansi again looked around her wide-eyed. The bathroom looked fancier than her living room. Not a spot of dirt or mold anywhere. A huge wall-length mirror. And the counter full of small artisanal soaps and different kinds of lotions and shampoos. Once again, Mansi felt like a child, just touching and examining all those things as if they were wondrous toys. Even the faucets were so ornate.

When she came out, Reena and Mansi were back on the couch having beer. She joined them.

"So did you enjoy lunch, Mansi?" Reena asked.

"Yes, it was delicious." Mansi smiled. "And I got to learn something new. Using chopsticks."

"Happy to be of help." Dutt said.

They all talked casually for a few more minutes. And then Dutt suddenly said,

"Oh, I just remembered." And he took out a small envelope from his inner pocket. "At a meeting with the Food Mart chain folks today, I got these complimentary gift cards. They don't have a branch in Delhi. Why don't you two take them?"

"No no, that's okay." Mansi politely declined.

"How much are they for?" Reena reached over and opened the envelope.

"I don't know. It doesn't say. It's just like a debit card with their logo. To be used only in their store. Maybe a couple of hundred rupees."

"Why not? Thank you." Reena took one and held out the other for Mansi.

"No, aunty, it's okay. You keep both."

"Don't be silly, Mansi." Reena pushed one into her hand. "Duttsahab got them for free anyway. Why let them go to waste? I know they have a big store in Borivali too."

Mansi nodded and put them in her purse. A couple of hundred rupees might help stretch her budget a little.

"Thank you, Duttsahab." she said politely.

"Don't mention it. Anyway ladies, I need to leave for a visit to one of my factories in Dahisar." Dutt got up.

"Oh okay." Reena said. "I have an appointment soon too."

Mansi nodded, hoping that with Dutt gone, she might get a few minutes alone with aunty to talk about job opportunities. But then Reena said,

"Duttsahab...you said Dahisar. Why don't you drop Mansi off at Borivali on the way?"

"Sure, happy to." Dutt nodded.

"Oh no, I don't want to delay you. I'll just take the train." Mansi was overwhelmed by all these favors he was doing her.

"What delay? It's my factory. I can reach there any time I want. And Borivali is just on the way."

Mansi demurred some more but there really was no way to refuse the offer. She couldn't explicitly say that she had hoped to talk to Reena aunty alone. And honestly, she was a little relieved. It was a heavy lunch and she was feeling a little lazy. It would be nice to get a ride all the way instead of struggling through the local.

So she said her goodbyes to Reena aunty who hugged her and kissed her on both cheeks before letting her go. She accompanied Dutt down the lift in silence and to the hotel lobby.

"Driver, bring the car to the front." he called and said.

A few minutes later, Mansi was sitting on a plush car seat, again feeling a mix of awe and wonderment. It was a big Mercedes limousine. Expensive leather interior, A/C on at full blast, with a smart looking driver in a crisp uniform. She was getting a first hand exposure to the lifestyle of the rich and famous.

"Thank you again, Duttsahab." she said as he got in from the other side.

"Please stop thanking me all the time, Mansi." he smiled. "So where exactly do you stay? Tell him the address."

Mansi told the driver her address in Borivali east and the driver nodded. She sat back and was tempted to thank Dutt again, but he was on the phone.

"Yes Pradeep...no no...can't do it for 12 million. Had to be fifteen. Yes, we can do something about the warranty..."

He seemed busy with his business. So she sat back. The car started moving. She looked out of the window and marveled at how different the streets of Mumbai looked from the inside of a plush limousine.

She stared at the buildings and cars whizzing past as she wondered, is this how people with money live? How would it feel? Do they get bored of it? She started thinking about a parallel universe where she hadn't been born to middle class conservative parents in a small town but to someone like Dutt. He seemed like such a nice and knowledgeable man. Very kind and gentle. Surely he didn't yell at his kids, force fit them into his ideas.

She noticed that Dutt had finished his phone calls.

"Can I offer you some water or a soft drink, Mansi?" he asked. "Your lips look a little dry."

"Oh no, there is no need to stop." Mansi said, without realizing that this meant he had been looking at her lips.

"We don't have to stop." Dutt smiled. "Push that blue button by your side."

Mansi was intrigued and pushed it. Immediately, a small refrigerated box slid out of the panel next to her. It had water, cola, and a couple of juices.

"Wow!!" she said, her eyes wide. A mini fridge in a car? She reached out and took a bottle of water.

"Press it again." he said, and then the fridge disappeared into the wall as if it was never there.

Taking a sip of water, Mansi licked her dry lips. Dutt watched her do that and felt a stirring in his loins. But he restrained himself.

"Duttsahab...what do your kids do?" she asked.

"My kids...oh they are a great bunch. The eldest, my first daughter, is a Vice President in my business. She is the one who runs most of our operations these days. And once I retire soon, she will take over completely. To be honest, she is going to take our business to great heights. She is married to a lawyer and they have two sons."

Mansi was a little surprised that despite having a son, it was a daughter that he was grooming as his successor.

"The second is my son. About your age. He is a sculptor. Not hit the big leagues yet, but I see a lot of promise. And my youngest is doing a masters course at Stanford University in the US. She is going to be a great writer." he proudly said.

Mansi smiled and nodded. If she had been born to him, maybe she could have become an artist too.

That's when Dutt's phone rang again.

"Excuse me. Duty calls again." he said and answered.

As the old man talked business on the phone, Mansi turned back to look outside the window. They were now on the western express highway. She thought about her own daughter, and how intelligent she was. What was in her future? Even with all his flaws and idiosyncrasies, the good thing about Amar was that he was not an old-fashioned guy when it came to that part. It was his idea to put her in an expensive high quality school. She was sure that with him together, they would be able to help her live up to her full potential. But that needed so much money these days.

"See that blue building over there with the glass facade?"

Mansi was so lost in her thoughts that she did not realize when Dutt finished his phone call and slid over right next to her. His face was right in front of hers and his finger was pointing out the window. His hips were touching hers.

"Hmmm?" she absent-mindedly said, looking where he pointed.

"I own two floors in that building, and that is like my Mumbai branch office."

"I see." she said.

"So you see, we are neighbors of sorts. You live in Borivali East. I have my offices in Borivali East." he said, still right next to her, a little too close.

"I guess so." she said, and squirmed a little, uncomfortably.

Dutt noticed her reaction and was a little disappointed. He had hoped for some sort of a signal that she was also attracted to him. But it wasn't there, He immediately slid back and she looked more relaxed.

Soon the driver turned off from the highway and went into the roads of the suburb. There was a short period of silence as Mansi sipped a bit more of the water. She didn't think that Duttsahab meant anything untoward by sliding that close to her. Maybe that was the norm among high society people. And he was such a nice charming man. When his face was right next to her, she had found herself thinking that it was a very handsome face. And that in his younger days, before he got a paunch, he must have been quite a good looking guy. He reminded her a bit of Rishi Kapoor.

"We are almost there, ma'am." the driver said from the front.

"Oh, yes, thanks." Mansi said as she recognized the familiar narrow roads of her neighborhood. Part of her felt a little sad that the ride was ending. It meant that her small adventure with high class society was ending.

"Mansi..." Dutt said holding his phone. "Why don't you give me your number? Like I told you, my son is a sculptor. Through him, I hear of a lot of exhibitions and events related to art in Mumbai. Next time there is one, I can call you. And then you can visit it with your husband and daughter."