“Haanji ma’am.”
“Apni aukat mein raho. What’s with the shaking hands? Can’t you do a namaste? Kyunji,” as she frowningly glanced at her husband, “can’t you tell the man that instead of shaking his hand?”
Tanuja felt highly embarrassed by Gurinder’s harsh words. What was wrong if the man had shaken her father’s hand? Why did her stepmother have to shout for such a trivial thing?
Before her father could open his mouth, the driver said, “I’m sorry, ma’am. Please forgive me. It won’t happen again.”
Gurinder looked the man up and down before ordering, “Chalo, take all the suitcases and let’s go to the waiting room.”
Without asking a question, Raj lifted two heavy suitcases in both his hands before turning in the direction of the first-class waiting room. Tanuja bent down to take the third one, giving him a shy nod, a small smile touching her lips. Her mouth had the appearance of a rosebud to the man who walked ahead of her.
It took the Bhatia family about an hour to get ready. Raj waited patiently as he read the day’s newspaper before Talveer walked out from the men’s waiting room. Tanuja was the first to get ready and she also walked out to the platform on seeing her father. She couldn’t help being fascinated by the handsome driver as she studied him from the corner of her eyes from time to time, not saying anything while she watched her father chat with him.
“I am also from Delhi, Talveerji,” said Raj, answering the other man when asked.
Talveer smiled widely. “I did wonder about the accent,” he said, patting the younger man on his shoulder.
They chatted some more about their hometown but mainly in Hindi. “If you are educated, how come you are working as a driver?” There was curiosity in Talveer’s dark gaze as he looked up at the driver who towered over him by many inches.
Raj was careful enough to speak English exactly the way his drivers spoke. Shrugging, he said, “I am setting up my own business.” Okay, it was a slight variation from the truth as his garment factory was already set up and running smoothly. But he couldn’t very well tell the client that. “In the meanwhile, this is a good way to make money, without having to work under someone.” It was with difficulty that he managed to keep his gaze on Talveer Bhatia and not let it stray to the young woman who, he presumed, must be the man’s daughter. She was simply too beautiful for words.
Talveer nodded his head vigorously, thoroughly approving of the other man’s sentiments. “So what business are you setting up?”
“Manufacturing of garments, Talveerji.” No, he had no plans to tell them the magnitude of his business, that he had invested almost ten lakh rupees and only twenty percent of the total had been raised through a bank loan. The rest was entirely from his own savings. Raj had slogged from the day he arrived in Bombay five years ago. He had refused to use his father’s money and had earned his own money starting from scratch. He had led a comfortable life but it wasn’t half as luxurious as the one he was used to at his home in Delhi. He had converted all the leftover money to gold. When he began purchasing gold in 1971, six months after he moved to Bombay, the price for ten grams had been less than Rs. 200. Over the last five years, the price had risen dramatically to Rs. 540. He had also persuaded his father to buy small bungalows in Mahabaleshwar and Matheran.
So, at the age of twenty-six, where a lot of young boys are still whiling away their time, Raj had set up his very own garment unit. And there was also the flat that he had purchased in Matunga, where he lived now.
Talveer nodded, even as his eyes kept turning towards the women’s waiting room, wondering about his wife and daughters. He looked at his eldest born and said, “Tanu, why don’t you go and find out if everyone is ready?”
“Theek hai, Papa,” said Tanuja in a soft voice before walking towards the waiting room, her steps dragging. As if the three of them would care.
“Madam, it would be nice if you could tell them that we have to travel for eight hours before reaching our destination.” Raj called out to Tanuja’s retreating back.
She stopped in her tracks, wondering if she had heard right. Had he called her ‘madam’? She turned around with a smile, her cheeks dimpling when her gaze caught his dark one, a dark wing-shaped eyebrow raised in query. “Were you talking to me?”
“Ji! It will take us eight hours to reach Mahabaleshwar,” said Raj, looking into her black gaze and rapidly found himself drowning in them, unable to stop the answering smile on his face.
Why was he addressing her as if she was fifty years old? Tanuja realised that she didn’t like it at all. But then, she didn’t want to say anything in front of her father. She nodded her head before turning away from him to continue towards the waiting room door.
After ensuring her father’s gaze was turned away from him, Raj looked at her retreating figure encased in a salwar kameez which faithfully hugged her slender body. She could have passed off for an apsara from heaven, he thought.
