“Oh, who knows if he is even studying? He tells us he’s studying, but I have my doubts. I’ve spoiled him too much,” Mr. Jha said. He was standing now next to Mr. Chopra’s car window. “And oh, how I wish tickets were cheaper this time of year. But I don’t think there’s ever a cheap season to go to New York! And not to mention the amount of shopping my wife will probably do—you should count your blessings that you have not been there.”
Mr. Jha laughed loudly but he was sweating, from the bright sun that was beating down on his head and the stress of coming up with ways to show how expensive this trip was going to be—and he realized now that it was going to be difficult to let Mr. Chopra know that they were traveling in business class without saying it explicitly. Unless, he thought, he left the priority luggage tags on the suitcases when they returned to Gurgaon and made sure Mr. Chopra came to visit while the bags were still lying in plain view. He felt sweat drip down along the side of his face.
Mr. Chopra reached behind his seat, pulled out a tissue from the box on the back window, and handed it to Mr. Jha.
“It’s still hot, isn’t it? Please tell Balwinder to shut your gate tomorrow. Starting the day already sweating is no fun. Well, I’ll be off. Have a good day. And do let me know when we can take you to the club for dinner. You must become members.”
Mr. Jha knew his wife would never agree to joining the LRC.
“Yes, yes, it sounds interesting. But let’s see—the lady of the house is wanting to spend more and more time in New York. All the shopping in that city drives women mad. But at least then I can justify buying whatever I want at the Apple Store, isn’t that right? Have a wonderful day, Dinesh.”
Mr. Jha walked back to his car, got in, and drove off. At least not having a driver meant he could leave when he wanted to. Now he would get his matching luggage set from Burberry, pack, and head to New York City to his son. He sat in his car and watched the Jaguar drive down the road. Poor children around Delhi made a sport out of stealing the decals off expensive cars—many fancy cars were missing the classic symbol of the Mercedes, the BMW, the Audi—and Mr. Jha was forever nervous that he would find his half-finished peace sign gone one day, but Mr. Chopra’s Jaguar still boasted the slender animal on the front hood. The car would look so much less impressive without that, he thought. Or with a scratch along the polished, perfect surface. How satisfying it would feel to scratch a key along the shiny body of that car. He shook his head; he mustn’t think such thoughts. Mr. Chopra had been nothing but nice. There was no reason to scratch his car. Letting him know they were traveling business class was sufficient.
When Mr. Jha got back from the mall he noticed a black Swift parked outside their gate. It looked familiar and Mr. Jha tried to remember if they had workers coming in today. He didn’t think so. Unless his wife was surprising him with a swimming pool installation while he was out. That would be nice of her, he thought. But completely unlike her, he corrected. He parked his car, opened the trunk, and pulled out the new matching sets of Burberry suitcases—two large ones, and two carry-ons with the matching logos. Frankly they looked quite ugly, but without the logo on them, how would anyone know they were Burberry? And, strangely enough, the ones without the logos were more expensive than the ones with logos. That was certainly counterintuitive, Mr. Jha thought.
He pushed two of the bags to the front door and was reaching around in his pocket for the keys when Mr. Gupta opened the front door.
“Welcome home,” Mr. Gupta said cheerfully. He laughed loudly and said, “Now I know what it feels like to throw open the doors to a big Gurgaon bungalow. Come in, come in. We’ve just dropped in to say hello.”
Of course that Swift looked out of place in Gurgaon, Mr. Jha thought. What were the Guptas doing here?
“Anil, you’re home,” Mrs. Jha said as he walked in the door with the luggage. She was sitting on the sofa next to Mrs. Gupta and they both had cups of tea in their hands. “Where were you? The Guptas called because they were in the area, so I invited them over for tea.”
“I was out buying luggage for our trip,” Mr. Jha said, still adjusting to the sight of his old neighbors in his new house. They looked smaller here than they did in Mayur Palli.
“But we already have enough suitcases,” Mrs. Jha said.
“Not fancy branded ones,” Mr. Gupta said, twirling one of the suitcases behind Mr. Jha.
Mr. Jha turned around and took the suitcase from him and put them both in the dining room, got himself a glass of water, and returned to the living room.
“The branded ones are the most reasonably priced,” Mr. Jha said. “No need for anything flashier.”
As annoyed as he was to see Mr. Gupta here, he did not want to give him more reason to make jokes.
“The sofa certainly looks better here,” Mr. Gupta said.
“How is everything in Mayur Palli?” Mr. Jha asked. “I got an e-mail from our tenants that they’re settling in well.”
“They are quite lovely,” Mrs. Gupta said. “The wife has started her dance classes, and she may do one for the older ladies as well. I am very tempted to join.”
“Oh, how nice,” Mrs. Jha said.
“Have you made friends with other ladies in this neighborhood?” Mrs. Gupta asked.
“Not really yet,” Mrs. Jha said. “I do miss Mayur Palli. But let’s see—I’m thinking of going back to work soon.”
“Is that a dimmer on your light switch?” Mr. Gupta said. He got up and walked to the switch on the wall and pushed it up and down, making the lights in the living room dim on and off.
“Dimmers are better for the environment,” Mr. Jha said. “And they lessen the electricity bill in the long run.”
Mr. Gupta left the lights on and sat back down.
“My wife is right,” he said. “Your new tenants are wonderful and we are all happy to have them living in Mayur Palli. They have both been attending all the meetings. Lovely couple. With that cute little son.”
“Well, let’s see how long they stay there for,” Mr. Jha added, for no reason. The Ramaswamys had agreed to stay for at least two years and had said that it was likely that they would stay on longer, but Mr. Jha hadn’t expected Mayur Palli to have replaced them so easily.
“Well, I hope they stay. They’re like a younger version of your family,” Mrs. Gupta added. “From when Rupak was a little boy.”
“But they’re South Indian,” Mr. Jha said.
“Yes, it’s nice to have more diversity,” Mr. Gupta said. “That Mr. Ramaswamy loves crossword puzzles—now even I’ve started doing them every Sunday.”
“You’re sure that dance class isn’t turning into anything more…sinister?” Mr. Jha said.
Mr. Gupta laughed.
“Oh no, no, no. Absolutely not. That Mr. Ruddra always thinks everything is a brothel. No chance with the Ramaswamys—they are outstanding people. They even go to the temple every weekend. And Mr. Ramaswamy works for Standard Chartered Bank, which is such a reliable job with a steady income every month. Having a reliable job like that is a stamp of approval in many ways, I think.”
Mr. Gupta looked directly at Mr. Jha and then tipped his teacup toward himself, saw that it was empty, and placed it down on the coffee table.