But then there was the young Patel boy who died when he was only sixteen years old in an accident in South Delhi on a Saturday night. He had been riding on the back of a friend’s motorcycle without a helmet, Shatrugan heard. It was after dark and a car door swung open. The motorcycle had swerved to avoid the door and the young boy had been tossed from the bike into the middle of the road and a truck went over him before anyone had a chance to react. Shatrugan wasn’t on duty the night that the police came to Mayur Palli to tell the Patels the news, but he was there forty-eight hours later when the boy’s body had been sent back on ice so that his soul could be freed. Shatrugan had opened the gates for the hearse and he saw the boy lying in the back. His whole body was covered with a sheet, even his face, because the damage was so severe.
All the ladies, in their white mourning kurtas and saris, had held Mrs. Patel upright while she just stood screaming. As the hearse pulled away that day, Mrs. Patel vomited directly on Mrs. Jha’s sari. Mrs. Jha and Mrs. Patel weren’t even close friends. Mrs. Jha simply covered the area where Mrs. Patel had vomited and helped to take her home while her husband and the other men took the boy to the crematorium. Two years later, when the Patels finally cleared out their son’s room, they gave Shatrugan his transistor radio. Shatrugan thanked them and then threw it away.
By the time he had helped the moving van park in the middle of the courtyard, Mr. Gupta appeared on the scene.
“This van is going to get in the way of the cars.”
“It’s only blocking Mr. Patnaik’s and Mr. Jha’s parking spots,” Shatrugan said. “And Mr. Jha spoke to Mr. Patnaik already.”
“Mr. Patnaik agreed? He yelled at everyone when the milk boy’s bicycle was parked in front of his garage. What if there is an emergency? Did Mr. Jha pay Mr. Patnaik for this? I will not have Mayur Palli become a commercial center,” Mr. Gupta said.
He went up in the elevator and rang Mr. Jha’s doorbell. Mr. Gupta wondered if the Patnaiks actually had given permission to block their car in. As if allowing them to block their car would get them the Jhas’ son’s hand in marriage. Everyone wanted to set Rupak up with their daughters or nieces. His own wife wanted to set up Serena, her niece in America, with Rupak, but Mr. Gupta did not want his wife’s brother’s family getting their hands on the Jhas’ wealth, so he had discouraged that.
Mrs. Jha opened the front door. She was wearing a starched green sari. Her glasses hung on a gold chain around her neck and her hair was pulled into a bun but parts of it—especially the grays that framed her face—had escaped.
“Oh, Mr. Gupta, good morning. It is a bit chaotic—the movers are arriving just now,” Mrs. Jha said.
“Yes. Shatrugan has helped them park the van downstairs. Mrs. Jha, is your husband at home?”
“He is in the shower. Is there anything I can help with?”
Mr. Gupta peered over Mrs. Jha’s shoulder into the living room. There was a black sofa that he had never noticed before. It looked soft and plush and there were what looked like diamonds studded into the intersections of the seams.
“I’ll tell my husband to come and find you as soon as he’s ready. Be careful in here—all the dust has been churned up while packing. I don’t want you to start wheezing,” Mrs. Jha said while starting to inch the door closed.
“Not a problem. My asthma has been cured. I found an excellent ayurvedic doctor in Defence Colony. I can inhale all the dust in the world. I’ll wait for your husband,” Mr. Gupta said, pushing the door open. “I haven’t seen that sofa before. Diamonds?”
“Oh no, no. Diamonds would be crazy. Only crystals,” Mrs. Jha said.
The doorbell rang once again and as Mrs. Jha went to open the door, Mr. Gupta tapped on one of the crystals with his fingernail.
“I see the movers have arrived,” Mr. Patnaik said to Mrs. Jha when she opened the door. “I picked up a papaya for you while I was out. Something sweet for this auspicious day.”
“Mr. Patnaik, is that you?” Mr. Gupta said.
Mr. Patnaik looked past Mrs. Jha’s shoulder.
“Good morning, Mr. Gupta. It’s a big day at Mayur Palli. Would you like some papaya?”
“No, I would not like any papaya. I am waiting for Mr. Jha.”
Mr. Patnaik entered the Jhas’ living room. Mrs. Jha gave up. There was nothing she could do today. Now there would be no way of avoiding the whole housing complex knowing about the new sofa.
“Is this a new sofa?” Mr. Patnaik asked.
“With crystals,” Mr. Gupta said.
“It’s quite lovely,” Mr. Patnaik said.
“Are the crystals comfortable to sit on?” Mr. Gupta asked.
Before Mrs. Jha could encourage them to leave, the doorbell rang again and as she walked to answer it, both men settled down on the sofa. Shatrugan was at the door with three skinny men in white undershirts and dirty slacks standing behind him.
“Madam, the movers are here. The van is parked where sir told me to.”
“Ah, yes, Mr. Patnaik,” Mr. Gupta said. “The van is blocking your car. Before they start loading it, you should see that it gets moved.”
“It’s no hassle at all. It’s the least one can do for the neighbors,” Mr. Patnaik said. “Mrs. Jha, this sofa is wonderful. Where did you buy it?”
“My husband ordered it from Japan. Shatrugan, thank you for bringing the movers up,” Mrs. Jha said.
Mr. Jha came into the living room, fresh from the shower, his damp hair neatly parted to the left, as usual. He was wearing a short-sleeved checkered blue shirt and jeans. When had he started wearing jeans?
“Ah, our good-bye party is assembling. Good morning, good morning. Shatrugan, the movers have parked where we said?”
“Yes, sir. Sir, it is an exciting day for you today. You must be wishing Rupak were also here,” Shatrugan said.
“This will always be home for Rupak,” Mr. Patnaik said. “You may be moving to another part of Delhi, but you will always belong here.”
“Rupak does not even live in Delhi anymore, let alone Mayur Palli, Mr. Patnaik,” Mr. Gupta said. “He has moved on. He probably has an American girlfriend by now.”
“I’m sure he won’t forget where he’s from,” Mr. Patnaik said. “Are you looking at girls for him yet?”
“Not yet. Let him finish his studies,” Mr. Jha said.
“Yes, even Urmila would like to finish studying first,” Mr. Patnaik said.
“Really?” Mr. Gupta said. “My wife heard your wife telling the ladies in the library that she wanted to find a match for your daughter as soon as possible.”
“Mr. Jha, this is a lovely sofa. Your wife tells me it was made in Japan,” Mr. Patnaik said.
“Yes. Those are Swarovski crystals,” Mr. Jha said. “They shine like diamonds.”
“But not quite diamonds,” Mr. Gupta said.
“No, certainly not. A sofa is no place for diamonds,” Mr. Jha said.
Shatrugan, still standing near the door, laughed.
“Shatrugan, please go downstairs and stay near the truck. Watch that they load everything carefully,” Mrs. Jha said.
She tried making eyes at her husband to get everyone out of the house. Instead he said, “Bindu, perhaps you should put the kettle on for tea? People will be dropping in all day, I’m sure.”