Last Man in Tower - Aravind Adiga [169]
A piece of tomato slipped out of Kothari’s mouth as he smiled; he sucked it back in.
“Forgotten your old neighbours already, haven’t you?” Ibrahim Kudwa asked, as he came up to their table with little Mariam in his arms; Mumtaz, following him, was carrying two shopping bags. Kudwa dragged a metal chair over to their table.
“I was just telling Tinku it was time to give you a call—when look who turns up.”
“You’re looking good, son.” Kudwa patted Tinku on the back. “Healthy.”
The fat boy winced: he knew what this meant.
As Kothari petted Mariam’s cheeks, her father asked: “Where do you live these days?”
“Right here. Andheri West.”
“But ….” Kudwa frowned. “… there are no flamingoes in Andheri West.”
“Flamingoes were for big men like my father. Those fellows are good enough for me.” Kothari pointed to the sparrows hopping about the food court. “We are in the Capriconius Society. Behind the HDFC bank on Juhu-Versova Link Road. Good place. Good people.”
“They want Papa to be the Secretary there too,” Tinku said, as his father blushed.
“Some bhelpuri for you, Ibrahim? Or you, Mumtaz? A bite for Mariam.”
“Oh, no,” Kudwa said. “I take three antacids a day just to go to sleep. The wife has forbidden all outside food.” He looked at her with a smile. “We have good people in our new Society too. In fact”—he pointed to one of the shopping bags his wife was carrying—“I’m taking a gift for my neighbour’s son. A surprise.”
He beamed with pleasure. He noted that Kothari was wearing a new gold necklace—he tried to remember if the man had ever worn gold in his Vishram Society days.
“But where do you live, Ibrahim?”
“Bandra East. We have a family shop in hardware. I became a partner with my brother. There’s no future in technology, I tell you. Hammers. Nails. Screws. If you ever need any of these in bulk, please come to Kalanagar. Let me write down my address.” He turned to Mumtaz; putting her bags down, she took out a ballpoint pen and wrote on a paper napkin.
When she had done as her husband told her, Mumtaz put the pen down and looked at Kothari.
“Any news from the builder? The second instalment is already three weeks late.”
“I phoned his office and left a message.” Kothari folded the napkin with the Kudwas’ phone number. “If he doesn’t pay this instalment and the next one on time, we’ll go to court.”
“What a fraud that man proved to be. Mr. Shah. We trusted him.”
“All builders are the same, Ibrahim, old-fashioned or new-fashioned. But the first instalment did come, and he did give us eight weeks’ rent while we looked for a new place. He will pay. Just likes to delay.”
“Where is Mrs. Puri these days, Ibrahim? Any idea?”
“Goregaon. Gokuldam. In that new tower there. Nice place, new woodwork. They’ve hired a full-time nurse for the boy.”
“That’s the future. Goregaon. So much empty space.”
Kudwa shook his head. “Between us, the boy’s health has suddenly become much worse. I don’t know what she will do if he … Gaurav comes to see her all the time, she says. He’s become like a son to her.”
Kothari dug his plastic spoon into his food.
“And Mrs. Rego?” he asked. “Any word?”
“We were never close,” Kudwa said. “The Pintos of course are living with their son. He came back from America. Lost his business there.”
“Everyone is coming back from America.”
Shifting Mariam to his left arm, Ibrahim Kudwa touched the table for attention.
“Ajwani refused to take any of the money, did you hear? Not one rupee.”
Kothari sighed.
“That man—all his life he was obsessed with money. Sat in his real-estate office with a bundle of cash in his drawer to feel rich. And then when he actually gets a windfall, he says no. A nothing man. Pucca nothing.”
Kothari ate more bhelpuri.
Mumtaz Kudwa picked up her shopping bags; her husband stood up with Mariam.
“Life is good,” he said. “It is not perfect, but it is better with money.”
“You have said it exactly right, Ibrahim. Goodbye, Mumtaz. Bye-bye, Mariam.”
On the escalator down, Kothari went over the bill for the food he and his son had just eaten; his lips worked.
“… the bhelpuri was only