Downstairs, in the courtyard, others from the housing complex had gathered around the pieces of furniture, wrapped in old sheets and blankets and covered in tape, that lay around the big truck. Most people of their generation were retired and had nowhere else to be on a Monday morning. When Mr. and Mrs. Jha came down following the last of the boxes, Mrs. Kulkarni came forward to hand them a small box of laddoos, again, something sweet. Mr. and Mrs. Baggaria gave them a box with “basic daal, rice, and vegetables so you have some home-cooked food when you get there.” Mrs. Jain came to Mrs. Jha with a small bouquet of flowers. “I went for a walk this morning to see if I could pluck some from the lawn downstairs so you would have something from Mayur Palli to take with you, but there are just no flowers anywhere around here. I had never even noticed. Anyway, I bought these from the market.”
Mrs. Jha was about to turn to Mr. Jha and tell him it was too much, look at all this kindness, how could this possibly compare to pulling up in front of an empty huge bungalow with nobody but the neighbor’s guard to say hello to them, when Mrs. Ray came up to her with a small bar of Cadbury’s chocolate and a box full of chappatis that her maid had made for them.
“Quite a day,” Mrs. Ray said. “Do you need anything else? These chappatis Ganga made can be put in the fridge so you can eat them over the next few days. Do you want her to pack a full meal?”
“Oh, Reema,” Mrs. Jha said. “I’m so happy to see you. You are too kind. Mrs. Baggaria already gave us food, but I’m so happy you are here. I’m so happy everyone is here. And I feel terrible about all the times the neighbors have annoyed me. I can’t believe it’s actually happening. Time just goes so fast, doesn’t it?”
Mrs. Ray nodded. “It does. But don’t talk as if you are leaving the country. You are still going to be in Delhi. And I will come to visit. It will be good to get out of Mayur Palli every so often.”
“Our lives are here. What an age to start again. New starts are for youngsters, not for us,” Mrs. Jha said. “I shouldn’t say that. Maybe you might find a reason to visit Gurgaon more often? It isn’t just us who will be there.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Mrs. Ray said with a laugh. “But I did get an interesting call from someone in Gurgaon last week. I assume I have you to thank for that?”
Mrs. Jha smiled and used the corner of her pallu to wipe the sweat off her forehead. “It might be nice for you to have some new friends. Outside Mayur Palli. What did he say?”
“It took a while for either of us to say anything because I thought it was the dry cleaner who has not yet finished cleaning two saris I gave him almost two weeks back. Upen introduced himself as Mr. Chopra, not Upen, and that’s what that dry cleaner in the market calls himself. So I immediately started scolding him for having taken so long. I said, ‘I’ve been calling and calling and you haven’t answered or called back.’ Poor Upen seemed quite shocked and said he didn’t know I had been calling, what number had I been calling on? And it went on like this for a while until I realized what had happened. It was embarrassing, Bindu.”
“But you’re smiling,” Mrs. Jha said.
“Perhaps. But enough about that—today is about you. Who says only young people should have fun? They don’t even appreciate their own youth. I think your move is quite exciting. And it will be good.”
“You come and spend full weekends with us, okay? We have too many bedrooms,” Mrs. Jha said, glancing up at the Des’ balcony to see if they were watching.
“Small, idle minds here. But it provides entertainment, doesn’t it? Some days it’s fun, some days it’s silly, but that’s life,” Mrs. Ray said. She had noticed Mrs. Jha looking up toward the Des’ balcony and she did not want to discuss her stolen yoga pants today.
“Mrs. Ray,” Mr. Gupta said. “Did you find your yoga pants yet?”
“They were stolen,” Mrs. Jha said. “You don’t find stolen items.”
“Well, we have no proof that they were stolen,” Mrs. Kulkarni said.
“Nobody has ever had anything stolen here,” Mrs. Baggaria added. “But hopefully you have discovered that yoga works best in salwar kameez.”
“Idle minds,” Mrs. Jha whispered to her friend. “Ignore them.”
Mrs. Jha put her purse into the front seat of the car and turned to Mrs. Ray.
“You really will visit?” she asked. “For me, even if not for anyone else in our neighborhood.”
“Of course. As soon as you’re settled in, you will invite me over for dinner. Or as soon as you return from New York. And you will keep coming back to Mayur Palli. You can move elsewhere, but you will always belong here. It took a whole housing complex to raise that fine son of yours. We aren’t going to let you all disappear,” Mrs. Ray said. “You must be wishing he were here today.”
“We are finalizing our dates to visit him. You know my husband—he always books tickets at the last minute. But I worry about how Rupak manages in America all by himself. Our Indian boys always need women to take care of them, don’t they? Mothers or sisters or wives or daughters,” Mrs. Jha said.
“Or maids,” Mrs. Ray added.
“Careful, careful. I told you to wrap the sofa with extra sheets. I don’t want a single diamond to fall off.” Mr. Jha was following behind the movers as three of them carried the sofa.
“There are diamonds on the sofa?” Mrs. Ray asked.
“Oh no, no. Not at all. Just a few small crystals. He doesn’t even know the difference. It’s nothing,” Mrs. Jha said.
“Put the sofa in absolutely last,” Mr. Jha said.
Mr. Gupta and Mr. Patnaik came downstairs and joined the group, and Mr. Patnaik noticed a big brown box on his Honda. Not only was his car blocked in, but they were actually storing things on his car. After all this, Rupak had better not return to India with an American wife. If he did, Mr. Patnaik would make Mr. Jha pay for his car to get repolished. Mr. Gupta also noticed the brown box and thought it served Mr. Patnaik right for trying to brown-nose his way into Mr. Jha’s new money. He hoped one of the crystals would scratch Mr. Patnaik’s car while they were at it.
“Well, everything is fully packed,” Mr. Jha said. “Bindu, you’re ready?”
Mrs. Jha nodded but did not move. Behind her, Shatrugan had joined the group. He wished he could reach over and touch Mrs. Jha’s shoulder and tell her he would miss having her here, but he knew he could never touch any of them. Instead he had to walk to the gate and open it so the Mercedes could pull out with the big truck clattering behind it. At the gate, Mrs. Jha put the window down and handed Shatrugan a bag.