Custody Read online

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  The screen test was promising and Shagun was chosen to appear as a mother in a thirty-second film. When they wanted a child, she suggested her son, and he too was taken. In one week, the exhilaration was over, but not over was the intensity of Ashok’s gaze as he dropped in on the studio to see how it was going.

  She put the visit down to the perfectionism she had heard so much about, but when he asked her to coffee, her pleasure was mixed with fear.

  Had he been a home-grown Indian and not the boss, she would have found a way to refuse, but this man had been imported from abroad and she did not want to seem unsophisticated. So she went for coffee, and in the spirit of sophistication, dispassionately revelled in the admiration emanating from him, knowing she was still in a role, and it was nice to play away from home.

  He encouraged her to talk. Once, she said, she had got modelling offers that might have led to screen tests, but then she had married very young and there had been the inevitable children. Now she was too old to start in films, but with so many new TV channels, and with countless soaps on offer she might have a chance once this ad was released?

  Yes, an ad might open up opportunities. He was acquainted with someone who worked with Asha Kakkar, queen producer of practically every sob-inducing serial; would she like him to make a few enquiries? If she gave him her phone number he could get in touch with her directly should something materialise. Nervously she wrote her number down, then watched him insert the chit carefully into his wallet. He would do his best, but she was not to be disappointed if nothing came up.

  Of course not, that was understood, she murmured.

  He grinned dazzlingly at her. If anyone deserved to be in films it was the woman sitting before him, he said.

  A week later found her in his house, after he had phoned about needing advice on furnishings.

  Did you manage to get any information about the TV series? she asked as he opened the door, visions of the casting couch flooding her mind. Ashok Khanna didn’t seem that type of man, but you never knew.

  I have asked my friends, they will get back to me. But I must tell you, it will be necessary to relocate to Bombay if you are serious. It’s unfeasible to think of an acting career from Delhi.

  In that case, asked Shagun, was it not possible for Raman to be posted there?

  He did not answer, and she wondered whether her question was too unprofessional to merit attention. She looked at him anxiously, he looked back unsmiling, she lowered her eyes and asked about the furnishings.

  He showed her some nondescript beige drapes, did she think he should change the fabric?

  Silk would look much better, she replied; these were a polyester mix, that’s why they seemed on the shiny cheap side. There was a shop in Khan Market that sold excellent stuff, expensive but with tailoring thrown in. Who had done his decorating, by the way?

  Obviously someone who didn’t know very much. Now would she like some coffee, he wanted to get to know her, did she think that was permissible?

  A giggle that sounded idiotic even to her ears. Of course it was permissible, she said. He made the coffee himself – there was not a single servant about, which seemed strange to her.

  Not yet used to having them underfoot all the time, he explained. Though he’d grown up in India, he’d lived abroad for the past twenty-five years. But he wanted to hear more about her: what did she do with herself, how did she spend her day?

  She was an ordinary woman, why did he want to know? He asked her to guess and as she blushed self-consciously he proceeded with his own history that had led him to this place, this sofa, talking to her.

  Later she was to discover he had a strong sense of the significance of his own presence. But was it any wonder? Apparently he had been successful since the day he was born. And ever since he had joined The Brand, fresh out of Harvard Business School, the company had responded to his devotion with equal commitment.

  Anecdotally he mentioned his recent trip to Africa. People thought capitalism was heartless, they never considered the great good achieved by multinationals. When the folk he met knew he represented The Brand, they practically fell down and kissed his feet, their community work – such as the fight against AIDS – was so well known. He wanted that impact in India as well.

  III

  Raman and Shagun’s marriage had been arranged along standard lines, she the beauty, he the one with the brilliant prospects.

  Their first child had been born within a year. On learning of his young wife’s pregnancy, Raman had blamed himself. He should have been more careful, he wasn’t sure he was ready to be a father. He made the mistake of divulging his doubts to his mother – he hadn’t been married long enough to be wary of such confidences.

  ‘I really wish this hadn’t happened so soon. We need more time together,’ he started.

  His mother bridled. ‘What will she do when you are in office? It is not as though you can be together night and day, particularly when you are in a travelling job.’

  ‘She is only twenty-two.’

  ‘It may interest you to know I myself was only nineteen when I had you.’

  ‘There was less awareness then. And if you had me at nineteen, surely that was not good for you, Mummy. You don’t want your daughter-in-law to go through the same thing.’

  ‘Beta, it is good to have children early. By the time they settle down you are still young and free enough to enjoy.’

  What she didn’t mention was that as a grandmother she imagined she would have more of a role in her son’s life. As it was she only saw him on Sundays, which just about broke her heart.

  Shagun herself had no doubts. Everything was a glorious adventure, and being pregnant plunged her into the centre of all attention. She didn’t throw up once, her skin glowed, her hair shone, her husband called her a Madonna, her mother said she was fruitful like the earth, her in-laws looked proud and fed her almonds and ghee whenever they could get near her.

  The birth of a boy added to her glory. She had gotten over the duties of heir-producing smoothly, there would be no need to have another child. Her son had inherited her looks and colour, a further source of gratification.

  To Raman’s amazement her figure resumed its girlish curves, leaving only breasts that were more abundant. She now looked like those ideal women described in the Kama Sutra, their hair like a cloud of bees, their breasts like mountains of honey, their eyes like those of a deer, a waist that could be spanned by his two hands (well almost), a belly that folded over in three flat folds, and a walk that was like an elephant’s. When he told her this she laughed and said you now have a private zoo.

  These were the good years. Raman was doing well at work, his creativity at IndiaThinkTank was recognised by bonuses and awards. A happy moment with a Foot Fetish shoe ad had made his name. All that lies between you and the … various imaginative scenarios followed. He had taken special care with the visuals. Small feet, beautifully shod, stepping daintily across desert sands, rainwater puddles, muddy river banks, even the Arctic tundra. Who cared about logic in an ad? It was all about evoking desire.

  When The Brand re-entered India, Raman was ready for a change. He wanted more challenge, more prestige, more salary.

  No one was surprised when they hired him in the marketing department at 10 lakhs a year. Shagun and Raman celebrated by going to Europe for their summer holidays. Had his parents not refused, Raman would have taken them along, but later, beta, first you establish yourself, his father had said, not wanting that money should be spent on them, especially when the exchange rate was so high. They were used to guarding family resources.

  In his new job Raman was in charge of Mang-oh!, a duty that took him up and down the country. It was a huge leap in status and responsibility, but as his time away from home increased, Shagun began to protest. ‘But what to do, darling? We have to create brand awareness in every corner of the country. People will drink anything. The Rival is paying crores to film stars to endorse their product
s. Our sales figures have to outstrip theirs.’

  So, money-swollen film stars were getting even more swollen, while her poor hard-working husband had to be content with 10 lakhs a year. Since Raman had moved to The Brand, Shagun had heard of salaries that at one time seemed unimaginable – 40 – 50 – 60 lakhs a year, plus bonuses. Anything seemed possible if you worked hard enough. India was becoming a meritocracy, connections were no longer necessary for success.

  Their lives assumed the pattern of so many in their set. Weekends with family, friends, clubs and parties. Weekdays shopping, restaurants, children afternoon and evening, nights drinks and parties. From time to time a book was read and knowledge of it displayed.

  When Arjun was almost eight, Shagun found she was pregnant again. On a dearly paid holiday cruise around the islands of Hawaii, accompanied by parents (the treat of a lifetime), they fought and made up with hurried sex while Arjun was playing in the bathtub. Thus the conception.

  Shagun was distraught. There might have been empty spaces in her life, but this was not how she chose to fill them.

  ‘Why weren’t you more careful?’

  ‘Is this my fault?’

  ‘You were supposed to get a vasectomy, but of course you did nothing. Too busy all the time.’

  ‘A lot of people have two children. What’s the big deal? We have the money, you can have all the help you want.’

  ‘It’s not that. I’ll be thirty, Arjun is just becoming independent, I don’t want to start all over again. Always tied to a child, is that what you want?’

  He stared at her, deeply offended. He was the most committed father he knew, on holidays and weekends devoting himself to his son, giving his wife the break she needed. Another child could only be a blessing, and maybe he would get the daughter he longed for.

  He was leaving the next evening for Bareilly, by the time he came back things would have settled down. One precaution he did take, though. Before he left he phoned his mother-in-law: please look after her, she is in a delicate condition, still somewhat upset, and I am worried.

  Whatever the stratagems, whether Shagun’s mother’s delight, whether Arjun’s steady demand for a brother, whether the life within made its own claims, Shagun did carry the baby to term, and gave birth to a daughter in June 1996.

  Right from the beginning it was clear that Baby Roohi was a carbon copy of her father.

  All mine, Raman joked, can’t mistake her for anybody else’s.

  At least don’t draw attention to her looks, snapped Shagun, when she had heard him once too often.

  Raman looked at his wife in surprise. This is not how you talk of your child, no matter who she takes after. ‘You’ll see, she will blossom into a beauty – not like you, but a beauty all the same.’

  ‘And how can you tell that?’

  The father picked up the baby, now seven months old, and held her in his arms. He looked at the tiny features that held every promise of plainness. Like his own. But he was a man, this little thing would have more need of a pretty face, or life might treat her unkindly.

  ‘If we treat her as beautiful she will think she is beautiful, and people will judge her by the way she judges herself. So I don’t want to ever hear her called plain again.’

  In Shagun’s experience beauty did not work like that, but the little child was her daughter and Raman took her silence for assent.

  IV

  Indraprastha Extension, located in East Delhi across the river Jamuna, was an area furrowed with housing societies, and the poorer colonies devoted to servicing them. Tiny shops and roadside vendors intruded slyly into the chaotic traffic as rickshaws, cyclists, cars, scooters, pushcarts, buses and pedestrians jostled for space on the crowded roads. Also known as Patparganj, here lay the hope of many of the salaried middle classes to own a home of their own.

  Swarg Nivas was one of the largest housing societies in the area. Planned in blocks of six, the three A blocks in front had the larger flats, while the B blocks behind were smaller and cheaper. Three fenced-in gardens, lined with benches, divided the two sections. At the corner in the front was a small grocery store, the society offices and a little temple.

  Here lived the brothers Kaushik, Raman’s father and uncle, in flats that attested to the uncle’s business acumen. He was a lawyer, and it was through one of his clients in the eighties that he had heard about the Swarg Nivas Cooperative Housing Society while still a dream on paper.

  Knowing that you can’t go wrong with real estate, Som Nath Kaushik made down payments on two flats. One in A block for himself, one in B block for his younger brother, Shiv Nath, who as an engineer in the PWD had to operate under the constraints of a government salary and honesty.

  Each of the brothers had one son, with seven years between them. In Nandan’s time things were not quite so competitive; with a minimum of study, he managed to qualify for law college. Once he got his LLB, he started sharing his father’s office in the evenings, while working from slightly larger premises in the Tees Hazari grounds during the day.

  He agreed to marry the first girl his parents showed him. Rohini was a niece of his mother’s sister’s husband, home-loving, pleasant features, medium height, nice smile. When she produced twins, Aditya and Abhilasha, the family was joyfully complete, and her charms further enhanced.

  Raman meanwhile excelled in studies from an early age. His mother grew ambitious for him, as without any coaxing, he stood first year after year. He will be an engineer, she decided, only in a better position than his father, who all his life has had his talents wasted. In class XI she put him into a local coaching group, and for the next two years Raman attended school in the morning, coaching in the afternoon, then did the homework of both. When he cleared the entrance exam for IIT, his father insisted that it was all due to his elder brother’s blessings, making an imaginative leap his wife didn’t even begin to understand.

  She didn’t think there was any need to be quite so grateful, even though she was privy to the sums the older brother lent the younger. But she hated feeling this obliged.

  When you are older, she told her son, you will earn more than all of them put together. They think because they have helped us with this flat we have yet to see, they have done something great.

  Raman heard her without attention. He was still a student and for him the future was limited to the next exam.

  Raman spent the next five years in IIT swotting. Then another two years of even greater toil in IIM, Ahmedabad, to finally land a job at IndiaThinkTank with a six-figure annual salary. His long hours, and the distances he had to travel, made it convenient for him to live with other corporate trainees in a flat near his office.

  When he celebrated his twenty-seventh birthday, his parents decided it was time he marry.

  I will ask Bhabhi to look for a bride, said Mr Kaushik, she has done such a good job with Rohini. Fits in perfectly. Such lovely children too.

  But the mother wanted somebody with a little more class. Raman had a corporate job, the wife would need to look after his interests socially. While not disagreeing with her husband she quickly spread the word far and wide. Among its recipients was a cousin twice removed, living in Alaknanda.

  Ami knew a neighbour’s daughter, third-year college. The mother, a widow, vetted Raman’s credentials, scrutinised his photograph and then allowed the young people to meet.

  It took exactly a minute for Raman to fall in love. Two months of courtship followed before Shagun consented to marry him. His parents were then formally introduced to the girl.

  How stunningly beautiful she is, realised a frightened Mrs Kaushik, can such a woman really be a homemaker?

  She voiced her apprehensions to her son, knowing it was too late, cursing the modern need to love before marriage.

  ‘Uff Ma, she is still in college – what do you want? That she spend all her time in the kitchen?’

  ‘Even after you marry, I do not see this woman in the kitchen.’

  Neither did Raman, but h
e did not care. If he could have her in his bed, what did the kitchen matter?

  Mrs Kaushik could see there was no point saying anything to her son – he had a slack-jawed moronic look when it came to any discussion of his future after marriage.

  Shagun herself had romantic visions of the two of them running their house on their own. Raman hadn’t lived with his parents since he started work, it was too far, too inconvenient. Why should those reasons still not apply?

  Whereas Mrs Kaushik had always considered her son’s living arrangements temporary. As an only child she expected that his marriage would at last augment their tiny family. Knowing this, Mr Kaushik made an attempt to bring the boy closer.

  ‘Nandan has put down a deposit for a flat in the building, he and his parents will be across the hall from each other once the apartments are finished,’ he told Raman. ‘You can do the same.’

  ‘How many years ago were you promised this thing?’

  ‘Such a big project – delays will take place. Now they are saying 1990. Latest.’

  ‘That’s three years away – ridiculous. If the corporate sector did things like this, nobody would get anywhere.’

  ‘That’s not the point. If nothing else it is a sound investment. People are already selling the 3-lakh flats for 6, but still you can afford it. You will be eligible for a good loan. When the new bridge is built it won’t even take long to reach work.’

  ‘I am not sure I see us in Swarg Nivas, Papa,’ said Raman slowly. ‘It is very far from Shagun’s mother, and you know she is all alone.’

  ‘Arre, she can always come to visit. Then she will be close to all of us. Once you have your flat there, you will be both independent and nearby.’