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Bombay Wali

Gulnar Vaid, Tanya Trivedi and Renuka Rao met at The Wayside Inn for lunch. The three young women were freelance journalists eking out a meagre but interesting living in Bombay.

Renuka pursed her thin lips as she read the menu, which was mostly non-vegetarian and bland. Having grown up on idli-dosa-rasam in Madras, she would have preferred eating at the Udipi restaurant down the road. She missed home food now that she lived with a Goan-Christian family in a cramped Paying Guest accommodation in Mahim. But Tanya had insisted that they meet here. Udipi restaurants lacked ambience, she had said. And ambience was more important than mere nourishment.

Renuka cast a half irate, half indulgent glance at Tanya who was studying the menu through her oversized sunglasses. She took them off only after the sun had gone to bed. A large straw hat worn to protect her pale skin sat at a slight angle on her head. It had drawn attention when they had walked in. Tanya had cut confidently through the stares, going straight to their usual corner table with a street view. It was Renuka who had felt awkward, though no one had paid her much attention.

Gulnar was not looking at the menu at all. Puffing away on a cigarette, she surveyed the motley crowd.

She already knew what she was going to order; she always ate the same thing here — chicken club sandwich with a glass of limbu-pani, dubbed fresh limewater in the menu.

Tanya opened her large purse and looked inside.

“Eight rupees,” she announced. “That’s what I can spend.”

“That’s good,” ventured Renuka.

“That’s fantastic,” said Gulnar. “I have 50 rupees for the week and 20 will go on cigs.”

“I could lend you money,” said Tanya at once.

“You know, I’m going to rob a bank one of these days,” said Gulnar. She sat back in her chair and blew a perfect smoke ring.

She should have been an actress, thought Renuka. She wasn’t good looking in the conventional sense, but she had a strong presence. And she was outrageous, smoking openly in public.

“Let me be your banker,” said Tanya, smiling.

Renuka looked at the menu again. Fortunately the vegetarian items were also the cheapest. She decided on vegetable cutlets, spelt “cutless”. They need an editor, she thought, not for the first time.

Renuka and Gulnar lived away from their hometowns and were mostly broke, though they approached their circumstances differently. Gulnar celebrated her situation, wearing never-washed jeans and long, khadi kurtas with holes in them, occasionally making a meal out of a packet of peanuts and a banana, while splurging on cigarettes and books. Though a journalist like Renuka and Tanya, her main focus was a novel entitled Bombay Wali. Believing that thorough research must precede writing, she spent her days taking in the scene and her evenings writing down her observations.

Fortunately, her boyfriend, Geet, supported this notion. He drove her around the city in his old, but serviceable Fiat, and held her hand through all the diversions – a cabaret in a sleazy Juhu hotel, a séance in a Girgaon chawl (tenement) and an all-night shayari session held at a rented hall in Khar. They also frequented a wide range of city restaurants. Gulnar had decided that her heroine’s parents would own one. But would she be Goan or Gujarati? Muslim or Parsi? Tamilian, Malayali, or for that matter, Chinese? Gulnar could not decide. In any case, Geet’s fivefigure, accountant’s salary aided her explorations.

“Art is more important than life,” Gulnar would say from time to time, the pronouncement duly accompanied by a smoke ring. Renuka did not agree. Life made so many demands, where was the room for art? She hated her impoverished existence, the sensation of being afloat rather than grounded. What kept her going was the certain knowledge that things were going to be different in the future. She had a game plan. She wrote primarily on science and was in the process of applying to graduate programs in science journalism in the U.S. Science writing wasn’t that big yet, but Renuka believed that it had a future. After all, India was finally making technological advances, with its own satellites in space, even though the local phone system was not particularly reliable. Science writers would soon be in demand to explain new developments and breakthroughs to the public.

Gulnar stubbed out her cigarette and said: “I would rob the bank Geet used to work for. I know everything about it.”

“It wouldn’t work,” said Renuka, surprised by her own words. Why was she going along with this?

“It would work. Nobody would suspect us. And I’m telling you, I know that bank inside out.”

The waiter took their order – club sandwich, vegetable cutlets and prawn curry rice. Tanya had ordered one of the expensive items on the menu. She could afford to since she lived at home with her widowed mother. This also made it possible for her to be a theatre critic.

On weekends, Tanya conducted tarot card readings in her house, a venture that could have earned her some money, if she had treated her hobby like a business. But she did not concern herself with money, and her customers usually ended up owing her, or paying in kind. Stainless steel pots, statues of the Madonna with the infant Jesus, imported cosmetics, books on Marxism, awkwardly embroidered tablecloths, ugly photo frames and leaky plant holders had thus made their way into the Trivedi residence. Tanya did have the practical sense to give away some of the items as gifts to her cousins who were rapidly getting married and having babies. If Gulnar put art before life, Tanya reserved that spot for the Tarot.

“We would go in just before one o’clock, because the place would be closed to customers after that,” said Gulnar. “That way we would deal mostly with the employees. And we would be incognito, of course.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” said Tanya. “The bank robbery,” Gulnar said evenly.

“How would we be in-cog-nito?” Renuka found herself holding her breath.

“We would wear burqas,” Gulnar responded triumphantly.

“You’re assuming that we would all be involved,”said Tanya.

“Naturally.”

The trio had come together at St. Xavier’s College.

Tanya and Gulnar were enrolled in the B.A. Program; Renuka in the B.Sc. They already knew each other when Renuka met them at a party. She had noticed them soon after she had come in, because they were dancing together, ignoring the considerable attention they were getting from the boys. Renuka stood in a corner nursing a rum and Thumbs Up, admiring the way they moved – Tanya with total abandon, Gulnar with controlled confidence. Renuka had come to the party with a friend who seemed to have disappeared. She was trying to decide if it would be better to go home, when Gulnar came up to her and asked her to join them on the dance floor. Renuka demurred.

Tanya joined them, a bottle of rum in her hand. She poured a liberal shot into Renuka’s glass and gave her a wink. Renuka started loosening up after that, though she could not bring herself to dance for some time. Finally, when she joined them on the floor, she enjoyed moving to the frenetic disco beat more than usual. Soon after, Gulnar suggested that they move on to another party. After a couple of hours at the second, wilder party, they drove to Chowpatty beach in a jeep, with friends Gulnar had met there. Whenever the memory came up, Renuka could taste the ice cream she had eaten there – Tutti Frutti. She had never been on a beach that late, eating ice cream, giggling at everything. She was hung over the next day; but enveloped in a feeling of radiant elation.

After that the three of them had met practically every day, at the college canteen, after finishing their lectures. They had known each other now for five years. Renuka believed that she would never know anyone as well as she knew Tanya and Gulnar, not even her husband.

“What will you do with the money?” Tanya asked.

“Go to Singapore,” Gulnar said. “Geet’s going there for a conference in a couple of months. Or may be we’ll all go to Bali.”

“Why not China?” Tanya said. “I’ve always wanted to go there.”

“Let’s go China!” Gulnar said, leaning forward, her eyes gleaming.

After saying goodbye to her friends, Renuka walked briskly towards the State Bank of India, which was just down the road. She wanted to cash the money order her father had sent. Then she would pay the fees for her GRE Preparatory Course. The rest of the money would go to the American Express Bank for a dollar cheque, which she would mail to the U.S. to register for the GRE.

Go to China, Renuka thought. How impractical. Just the sort of thing Gulnar would think of, and Tanya could always be persuaded. Or it could work the other way around; the crazier the idea the better. How had she ever got involved with these two?

Despite their silliness, she was lucky to have them for friends. They were family to her here, in Bombay. Tanya’s mother invited them for dinner from time to time and so did Gulnar’s aunt, Kusum Vaid-Chopra.

Renuka recalled the first time she had gone to Kusum Vaid-Chopra’s penthouse apartment at Kemp’s Corner. The table had been laden with dishes and she was tempted to stash away some of the delectable batata wadas for lunch the next day. Her craving humiliated her. It would have made no difference to Gulnar’s aunt. She had served a French wine at dinner, and Cointreau and imported chocolate mints on a silver tray, afterwards, in the spacious living room with its huge glass windows that looked down on the glittering city. The only other time Renuka had sampled such treats was at the French Food Festival at the

Oberoi Grand when Gulnar had bagged the assignment to review it for a glossy weekend supplement.

Renuka had been impressed by Bombay’s glamorous façade when she had come here on a school trip as a teenager. She had insisted on studying outside Madras, even though her mother had been opposed to the idea. If she must go away, why far-off Bombay? Renuka had worked to get her father onside. Finally, their collective will had prevailed.

Exciting, quirky, dynamic – that was Bombay during her Bachelors. She had lived downtown then, where both her hostel and her college were located. But the picture had gone from a flaming technicolour to a greying black and white when she had started working and moved to Mahim. Commuting every day in the overcrowded, second class compartment of the local train, living in the hot, musty PG which cost her an arm and a leg, the high price of everything, the cheap, restaurant food which tended to upset her system had all started taking their toll. Renuka’s mother commented on how haggard she looked every time she went home. It was time she came back to Madras and got married.

Renuka’s father did not comment. He expected Renuka to be in the U.S. by the following year. He hoped that she would find a job there after she finished her Masters. Then they would find her a good husband with a Green Card. There was no dearth of well placed, Tamilian Brahmin boys in the U.S.

Renuka walked into the State Bank of India. After taking a token from the clerk, she took a seat, waiting for the digital sign board to display her number with a loud ping.

Banks. Banks were grey, silent places with blandfaced people behind glass panels and gloomy, somewhat anxious customers waiting on the other side.

It’s like a morgue, thought Renuka, perhaps because so much money lies inert in the vaults. She had a vague notion that the money circulated, was lent out, invested. But she did not understand financial transactions beyond the simplest exchange of money: getting and depositing a cheque, paying rent, buying something. Dullness descended over her when she entered a bank, as if she had left her brain outside the door. She glanced at the other customers. Their posture was slack, introspective. It would be easy to enter a place like this and hold it up. People would react like zombies and do what they were told. Renuka bit her lip at the errant thought. How could she let herself be influenced by Gulnar’s nonsense?

Renuka’s next stop was the old, decrepit building that housed Bright Future Classes. The lift was not working, so she climbed an ill-lit staircase with chipped steps, to the third floor. There were two people already in the queue. She unzipped her purse, wanting to be ready with her neatly filled out application form and the money. Her fingers searched the pocket where she kept her money and encountered a thin slit at the bottom. No! The newly painted, light blue walls of the room receded into the distance. The girl ahead of her was staring.

She showed the girl the bottom of her purse. The slit was straight, precise – the work of a pro.

“Someone stole her money!” said the girl excitedly. Everyone looked at Renuka.

Renuka looked at the clerk who was in charge of

registration. “What’s the latest I can register?” She was surprised that her voice sounded plaintive rather than panicky.

“You can come next week,” said the woman, her tone gentle. “Write your name and address down on a piece of paper. I’ll keep a place for you.”

“You should go to the police,” the boy who had just finished registering said. “The station’s just here, near Victoria Terminus. Do you know it?”

Renuka nodded. The fact that people were being kind, taking an interest, allayed her anxiety somewhat. She had felt so strange a minute ago.

Clutching the purse against her, she walked towards Victoria Terminus, moving blindly past pavement shops selling books, cosmetics, toys, clothes, electronic items – the world. This had never happened to her in all the five years she had lived in Bombay. It had never happened to her, ever. How could it? How could it happen now? What would her father say?

Her father kept a neatly organized folder of her articles and showed it to all the visitors who came to their house. He had always told her to study hard, to enter a profession. He had bought her a series of illustrated books entitled How Things Work when she was a little girl in pigtails. He had offered to pay for all the GRE expenses, though he was so careful with money. Tight-fisted, her mother called him.

Mustard yellow envelopes from U.S. universities had winged their way to Renuka’s PG every month. They were so strong, not like the shit-coloured, Indian ones that ripped easily. Inside were glossy brochures featuring smiling students in midstride, framed against expanses of green space, or sleek, modern buildings. The dream of an American University that she had lived with for months seemed elusive now. But no, she would not let go of it so easily. Perhaps the police would find the money?

The police station with its stained, peeling walls did not inspire confidence. Renuka gathered an impression of confusion and lethargy. There were several people waiting – poor, desperate-looking people, nothing like the customers at the bank.

Renuka looked around, then walked up to the most efficient looking person in the room. “M.J. Jadhav, Sub Inspector,” said his badge. Sub Inspector Jadhav sat behind a simple wooden table on which lay an open file full of handwritten pages. Renuka introduced herself as a journalist. At first she had been reluctant to take advantage of the status her work gave her. Soon she had come to the realization that it was one of the few perks of the profession.

Inspector Jadhav asked her to write out a First Information Report. Did she recall anyone bumping into her or brushing by her after she had left the bank? No, not really, she said, in Hindi. Then she asked him what the chances of apprehending the thief were. Jadhav was non-committal.

“It’s very important.” Damn it, she wanted to add, but did not.

“Money is always important, madam,” he said softly. He was a small-built, youngish chap with a thin moustache and warm, brown eyes. Without his uniform, Renuka would have never imagined that he was a policeman. She found herself pouring out her story of the GRE exam and the cheque from home. Jadhav listened sympathetically.

“They are very clever, these pick pockets,” he said. “They often wait outside banks. They tend to operate in teams. If you had lost a watch or a chain ... we find things like that sometimes. But money ... Of course, we’ll try our best.”

Renuka stood indecisively outside the police station, blinking in the glare of the afternoon sun. There was not much more she could do. The money was gone. A little girl in ragged clothes touched her arm. Renuka shook her head; she had nothing for a beggar today. She had to talk to someone. Maybe Tanya would be home.

Tanya’s mother answered the phone. “Tanya will be home late, after the play. You’re going, no?”

Renuka remembered that they had fixed up to meet at Prithvi Theatre that evening. Tanya had got them complimentary tickets for a Hindi adaptation of Hamlet. Renuka’s favourite actor, Nasiruddin Shah, was playing the lead role.

She reached the theatre a little before eight; Gulnar arrived a few minutes later. Renuka had decided not to say anything about the money till after the show. But one look at her face and Gulnar knew something was up. Renuka was recounting the story when Tanya arrived.

“Oh you poor girl!” Tanya threw her arms around her.

“You must call your father at once,” Gulnar said. “Tonight.”

“I can’t! I can’t tell him what happened. He’ll be so upset. He’ll ... shout.”

A flush rose on Renuka’s cheeks. She was wrong to expose her father like this. He wasn’t normally hot tempered, but he flew into a rage sometimes.

“Tell you what, let’s just talk,” said Gulnar. “It’ll be nice on the beach.”

Renuka looked gratefully at her. The idea of a closed, dark theatre held no appeal. They would hook up with Tanya after the play.

Gulnar and Renuka walked down the sandy, treelined lane that led to Juhu beach. The palm trees made a rustling sound as they passed under them. The same light breeze that played with the fronds brushed against Renuka’s face. Beyond the strip of sand was the inky, black sea at high tide, a bright line of white foam commemorating the union of water and land. Renuka, who had grown up by the sea, was glad to be near it. Her treacherous present had held her captive in the last few hours. She had lived almost entirely inside her own mind, which felt as constrained as her little room. The presence of the dark, undulating sea beyond the dimly lit beach, stretching out to the horizon, brought some relief.

“I would have asked Geet to lend you money,” said Gulnar. “But he just blew his savings on a music system.”

“I wouldn’t take money from him.”

“But you have to get money from somewhere. Kusum aunty could do it. It’s 3000 rupees, isn’t it?”

“I can’t take money from her.”

“Why not? You know it’s nothing for her. You can return it whenever.”

Never borrow money, Renuka’s parents had always told her.

“Let’s go to Fisherman’s Rest,” said Gulnar.

Gulnar was such a good soul, Renuka thought. She gave up the play for me just like that.

Sand seeped into her new sandals as they walked. Most of the money she had would go towards her rent, which was due in two days. She was expecting a couple of small cheques. Even if she scrimped on food she would never have 3000 rupees. She was hand to mouth as usual. She tried so hard to save, but it was no use. New expenses always cropped up – a birthday present, or a table lamp or alarm clock that needed repair. Or they would have a night out and she would be forced to take a cab home.

They found a table at the restaurant and ordered cold drinks.

“I’m sick of being broke,” Gulnar said. “Really? You don’t seem to mind.”

“I do. I would like to treat Geet sometimes. I give him little things, and a nice gift on his birthday. But it’s not enough.”

Renuka looked at her friend, surprised. She had envied Gulnar sometimes. She had everything – a devoted boyfriend, supportive parents who sent her a cheque to get her through a tight spot, and most of all, her devil-may-care attitude.

“And my parents. I would like to give them something too. Take a saree for Ma when I go home.”

“I’m sure they understand,” Renuka said. “You’ll be able to do these things when you’re more settled.” “That’ll never be,” Gulnar said emphatically. “If anything I may be poorer when I start writing my novel. I’ll have less time for freelancing.”

Renuka looked out at the sea. There were so many options in life. That’s what she had believed as a child. And even in college, the world had beckoned her as a place full of promise. Where had she gone wrong? “I have always admired you,” Gulnar said. “I have no self discipline with money. I see an interesting book and I’m gone ...” She shook her head and took out a cigarette.

“You know my weakness. Asimov and Kurt Vonnegut.

It’s no use trying to save. I’m broke anyway.”

“What you gonna do?”

“Don’t know,” Renuka said. She had been thinking and thinking, but there really did not seem to be a way out.

“You have to do something. Can’t you tell your mother?”

Renuka shook her head. She didn’t want to worry her parents. They had done so much for her already. She had to find a way out on her own.

Gulnar dropped her voice: “What about the bank idea?”

Renuka stared at her, incredulous.

“It’s a one-shot deal. This bank I have in mind has 2.5 lakhs worth of cash transactions everyday. That’s an average.”

Gulnar paused to see how Renuka was taking it. Renuka looked away and took a sip of her Fanta.

“That sounds like a lot, I know,” Gulnar continued. “But it isn’t really. It’s enough to give us some peace of mind. That’s all.”

Renuka emitted a hoarse, snorting laugh; she didn’t associate peace of mind with bank robberies.

Gulnar smiled. “I’ve been thinking about it for quite some time. It was like a game for me – what if? It’s not so much about our money problems right now, don’t you see? It’s for the future.”

“We’d get caught,” said Renuka matter-of-factly.

“That’s what you think because of crime novels and movies. People want to believe that those who step out of line get punished. But they don’t always. There are many unsolved crimes. Really. There are.”

“What about Tanya?”

“She needs money. They’ve wanted to get their flat renovated for a long time. It’s such an old building, you know that.”

The whole thing is ridiculous, Renuka thought. Gulnar should have been an actress or novelist. I should have been in a journalism program in the U.S.A. It’s all wrong and screwed up. Terribly, irreversibly wrong.

Renuka got home well after midnight. She was so tired that she had to pull herself up the stairs with the aid of the banister, one step at a time. She was out of breath by the time she got to the second floor. The evening had split her into two people: the Renuka who was going along with Gulnar’s outrageous scheme a shadow with a motive; and the Renuka who was still painfully embedded in her own flesh. The one had watched the other all evening, stifling a scream of horror and disgust.

The split had occurred at the precise moment Gulnar had pulled out a writing pad from her bag and started sketching out the layout of the bank. By that time Tanya had joined them and ordered a round of beer. Here was the entrance, Gulnar had shown them; here the windows; this was where the teller sat; here was the second exit in this room at the back. This was the moment when Renuka should have laughed, protested, maybe even slapped Gulnar. But she had not done any of those things. Her shadow self had taken over, listening to Gulnar’s plan without judgment or emotion.

Tanya was to go and buy the burqas from Mohammed Ali Road. She was to go there after dark, wearing her large sunglasses, her head covered with a scarf. Gulnar was going to procure the revolver. Her uncle, Kusum Vaid-Chopra’s husband, had one. It was kept in a locked drawer, but she knew where the key would be. Gulnar had found all this out quite by chance, she said. She was going to borrow the revolver, without telling anyone of course, for 24 hours. They were not going to load the gun. Gulnar was confident that it would not come to that.

Renuka was the one who would issue the commands, because she was a good mimic. It would be easy for her to change her voice. Gulnar was known to some of the bank employees because Geet had worked there for a year. Tanya’s voice was deemed too feminine. The robbery would take 15 to 20 minutes. They would down the shutters as soon as they entered the bank. They would padlock it from outside, when they left. Since this would happen around the time the bank closed its doors to customers, it would not arouse suspicion. They would then take a rickshaw to the nearest cinema hall, go into the ladies room, whisk off their disguises, and deposit them in a dump.

Renuka sat down heavily on her bed. She had no energy to change into her nightdress or brush her teeth. She wanted to topple over and fall asleep that instant. But her mind kept spinning, a spider propelled by instinct. She knew that her two friends were wilder than her, much more capable of extremes. She was the steady one who wanted a good job, savings, and the chance to study abroad. She wanted to get married and have children. Being with Tanya and Gulnar made her life spontaneous, indulgent, fun. Sometimes their escapades scared her. Yet the things they had done in the past were harmless, with no real consequence. Renuka had gone along because she trusted her friends, believing that they would always look out for her.

A dog started barking somewhere on the street. Renuka lay on her bed, savouring the incredible comfort it brought to her exhausted body. Her friends were not to be trusted: they had divided her against herself.

She fell asleep. Or rather, she entered a beguiling unconsciousness from which she found it difficult to emerge next morning. When she came to, her landlady, Mrs. De Costa, was banging loudly on her door.

“Phone for you,” she said, when Renuka opened the door. “Urgent.”

It was 7:30 am. The only people who called her at that hour were her parents. Had her mother taken ill? She was diabetic. Renuka rushed into the hallway. It was Tanya, sounding very agitated.

She had woken up at dawn and done a Tarot Reading to get a handle on the situation. Sunrise and sunset were powerful times in celestial terms because they delineated night from day, dark from light. She had opened the cards in the horseshoe format, which was used for asking a specific question, rather than for a general prediction. Her question had been: How will it go?