Chapter 2: Motichoor Ke Ladoo
"Arnav, I just got an invitation for something called a Satyanarayan Pooja from your sister," Payal said as she walked into Arnav's office at Raizada Designs. Arnav was on a call with one of his designers who was complaining about modifications that Raizada Designs had made on her original work. The designer in question, Niti Sarkar, a young, up and coming designer, was very unhappy. Arnav tried reasoning with her. His office had sent her a list of modifications that they needed in her original design and one of his in-house designers, in the interest of saving time had suggested that if she gave them a go ahead via email, they could take care of it at Raizada Designs itself. The changes very minor ones. Niti had agreed then, but yesterday when she had walked into one of the stores in Bombay that carried the Niti by RD label, she decided that the changes were more extensive than what she had agreed to.
"You have put my name on the design, my whole reputation is at stake," Niti had said dramatically. In the half an hour that Arnav had been on the phone with Niti he had sourced Niti's original sketches and compared it with the finished product. With the exception of an in-seam that the seamstress had put in place to improve the garment fit, everything else was the same when compared to the final design that she had approved.
He motioned Payal to sit down and mouthed N I T I to her. Payal put her palms around her neck, stuck her tongue out and pretended like a noose was around her neck. That is what most of his conversations with Niti always was. She was the most difficult designer that Arnav had to work with, but he worked with her because she was very talented. And Arnav respected her for that. He cared about Raizada Designs and associating with Niti was professionally rewarding albeit painful.
Payal was pacing up and down his office, checking her phone each time it beeped. Whatever it is that she read on her phone, seemed to annoy her. Seeing a sullen Payal was amusing. She had a short fuse and did not suffer fools well, especially those who sent her jokes on Whatsapp, made her want to break things.
"I am in Mumbai next week, do you want to discuss this then," Arnav finally interrupted Niti in the middle of her rant. Somewhat appeased, she agreed and hung up.
"The charming Miss Sarkar, eh? I must be the nicest person among all the designers you work with, yes?" Payal said, as she sat across him, drumming his table.
"Not really," Arnav said without even having the to think for too long about it. Payal was nice enough, but he wouldn't go as far as to describe her as the nicest. Payal merely shrugged.
"So Di has called you for the pooja? She was telling me that she would," Arnav said. Of course he omitted mentioning that Anjali Di planned to convince Payal into joining a Buddhist chanting group she went to, so that Payal would better manage her tongue and anger. Arnav wanted to tell Di that Payal did not need any fixing' and that it would be best if she were not to meddle, but he knew it was futile. This was Anjali Di, meddling was her favourite past-time.
"Yeah, she called me just a while ago," Payal said, once again scowling at her phone as it beeped, "But I had no idea Di was the devout type. Thought she was more of a rationalist, god-hating, Communist."
"I won't go as far as to say she is the devout type, but every person reaches that point in their life when they feel the need for appeasement. Di reached last year after Jiju got laid off from work," Arnav said, remembering how his perfectly rational sister went just a little bit cuckoo with her attachment for talismans around that time.
"Hmm. If she had married better and not that anarchist husband of hers, this pooja would have been altogether unnecessary," Payal's tone making it apparent that Anjali Di and her husband Arjoon were not her favourite people.
Arnav thought about what Payal said and he had to disagree with her. In fact, he thought that Anjali had made a rather good choice of life partner. Yes, Arjoon Bose was a guy who wore a beard longer than he could hold on to a job, but he made his Di happy.
Anjali had dabbled around with too many things between the age of eighteen and twenty-six. She had different phases. When in college, an independent film-maker was casting for his new movie, a complex, meta-narrative of a film about a film about a film. Anjali was cast as the director's muse, who made ghostly appearances and had long-winded conversations with the director, who eventually kills himself when aforementioned muse refuses to make an appearance. Arnav had watched the movie when it was screened at the Independent Cinema Fest. That was the only time that the movie was shown to the public. After this Anjali Di turned into a photographer, taking blurry pictures of random things that caught her fancy. Then like it was fashionable in South Delhi, she even started a cupcakes place, one which shut down before they ran out of their eleven month lease that she had taken on rent. And then one day Anjali was introduced to Arjoon through some common friends. They were drawn to each other from the word go. Arjoon belonged to a family in Kolkata and had moved to Delhi to do his PhD from JNU. At twenty-seven he was a post-doctoral student, ran a small NGO and had no real source of income. Arjoon gave Anjali some stability and also got her to explore things that were hitherto unknown to her.
Anjali had a Masters in Economics from UK. Not-London-School-of-Economics, as she insisted on calling it because everyone assumed that she went to LSE. This remained a sore point between Di and Mom, as Di was quick to correct everyone's misconception when her parents entertained people at the Raizada House.
As Arnav and Anjali used to be paraded in front of guests, their mother would say, "This is Anjali. She is studying Economics. In UK."
"But Not-London-School-of-Economics," Di would promptly add, leading to a death-stare match between them.
But after Anjali had long forgotten her Economics upon returning to India, it was Arjoon who encouraged her to enrol for a MPhil programme at JNU, much against mom and dad's wishes. They could handle a flakey Anjali, not a coming out of the closet Communist. The day after she graduated, Arjoon asked Anjali to marry him and she said yes. Anjali was now an Economics professor at Jesus & Mary College and Arjoon tried to hold on to jobs between his dharnas and protests. He was a particularly staunch critic of the policies of the Indian National Party and often wrote scathing editorials against them. Since was the political party that Payal's father was affiliated to, it did lead to some awkwardness. But all said, Arnav liked spending time with Anjali and Arjoon, in their small, but very nicely done up apartment in Vasant Kunj. It felt much more like home than the Raizada House ever did.
"So I am not sure if I can make it to this pooja thing tomorrow," Payal said, once again frowning at her phone, "Dad has an election rally in Faridabad, apparently he wants me there, god knows, why?"
"Oh don't you know? Indian voters love daughters more than sons, which is ironic considering it is the reverse in their own families."
"Hmm," Payal said, probably only half-listening to him, now rolling her eyes at the phone.
"You do realise that you can mute Whatsapp groups and people don't you?"
"I know, Arnav, but where is the fun in that. By the way, I did tell Di that it might be tough for me to make it, but can you explain to her too. I always get the feeling that she does not like me much."
"I am meeting her this evening, will let her know."
**
"Good you are here finally, Chotey, lets go," Anjali Di said as soon as Arnav stepped into his sister's house. Di looked all set to go out. Her wallet in one hand, the house keys in another, two shopping bags on either shoulder.
"What? I just came. Won't I at least get a glass of water and some chai?"
"Oh sorry, this is not the Raizada House. No one to bring bhaiya a glass of water and some green tea and give him a back rub."
"How can you be so dismissive of a lifestyle that not too long ago was yours too, Di? And I didn't know Hari Prakash gave you back rubs. Do you know how disturbing that imagery is?"
"We are the Boses, we don't do chai and pani on trays. But God, I do miss HP. He was supposed to be my dowry, but Mumma never kept her promise you know."
"I don't think Mr Bose would have approved of such human trafficking. Speaking of which, where is he? Why is he not taking you shopping?"
"Because he has real work to do."
"As opposed to? Di, you do realise that I own and run a successful business, yes?"
"Ya, ya, I am proud of you, Chotey. But Jun is finally in a job that he enjoys. I feel this might be the one. So, I am not making a big deal about his long hours, you see."
"Hmm. Fine. Where are we going anyway?"
"To buy motichoor ladoos. I was thinking Evergreen at Green Park. Do you have any recommendations?"
Arnav sighed inwardly. A week ago, he would not have had any confused and conflicted feelings about motichoor ladoo. But now, he could only think about her. It was like the universe was conspiring against him somehow.
"I am no expert in motichoor ladoos, so I will take you wherever you have to go."
"Why do you need them anyway?" Arnav said as he held the door for Di to step out and locked the door behind them.
"For the pooja tomorrow. The Maharaja who is doing the catering says that he won't be able to make the ladoos after all. So I need five hundred motichoor ladoos."
"Five hundred!" Arnav exclaimed, a cuss word that he followed up with fetching him a kick on his ass from Di. They were going down the stairs of Di's apartment and two little girls who were making their way up giggled when they heard Arnav.
"Language, Chotey," the ever ready to school people on something or the other Di said, "Watch your language. There are kids around."
Arnav had no doubt that the little girls knew far more cuss words than there were in his repertoire, but he had learnt over the years that it was both unnecessary and futile to argue with Di when it came to matters somehow connected to one's moral compass.
"But seriously, Di!" Arnav said once they were inside his car, "How can one small pooja require five hundred ladoos? How many people are you inviting anyway? And how will they fit in your house?"
"Go ahead and mock the size of my home," Anjali Di said in mock-hurt tone, even as Arnav groaned. Though, Anjali Di was not anywhere close to poor, but she loved to play the poor-card as much as possible. She found this especially useful when the other person was upset with her, usually when one of her meddling situations had gone a little awry. And before the other person could express their disapproval over her meddling and resultant fallout, she would pull out her poor card. It was a hundred percent effective mechanism. Though Arnav knew the reality of Di's poverty or the lack of it and the fact that she used that as a diversion tactic, every single time he would find himself falling for it.
"Quit being dramatic. Seriously, why five hundred. It does seem like a lot. And I say that with not as a pejorative observation on the size of your house or heart."
"That is what the pandit said. They will crumble the ladoos while we chant and the choora will be given as prasad. And just so you know, I have invited only forty people."
"Wow! Seriously? That sounds like a pretty bizarre kind of ritual," Arnav said, as he pulled his car into the Evergreen Sweets parking. The place was well-lit with fairy lights and two men standing outside with dhols. They were noisy and not particularly rhythmic. If this was their idea of wooing customers and entertaining their clients, they were doing it wrong. Anjali Di went in to get her five hundred ladoos, but as Arnav watched from the other side of the glass door, he realised that it wasn't going as planned. Di looked agitated and the sales-guy at the counter bemused. A few minutes an older and more senior looking person came in and a similar conversation ensued. Arnav decided to go in and check, just then Anjali Di turned towards him and made a thumbs down sign. Turns out Evergreen Sweets had sold out their stock of motichoor ladoo of the day and would only accept orders one week in advance. Di looked really dejected and crestfallen as they walked back towards the car. Arnav realised that while Di had been her usual cheerful self, yet something was amiss. This pooja was not just some random, fanciful idea that had come to her. Di and Jeeju were not the type to do an appeasement of the Gods ritual where ladoos were broken. No, they were more of the type to spend their money on something more meaningful, something to make it count. Maybe feed some children those ladoos. Or at any rate buy a new bookshelf for their ever expanding collection of books. He stood there leaning against the bonnet of the car and as Di walked towards him he decided to confront her about this.
"Di, please tell me the truth. Why are you doing this pooja? What is wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong. Is it wrong to pray? Just because you are not a believer, Chotey.."
"You know, Di, that is not quite what I mean. There is nothing wrong with praying. At any rate, who am I judge. But this," Arnav said as he waved his hands in the direction of Evergreen Sweets, "It is not just praying, it is some kind of social event. Shouldn't prayer be between man and his God, whoever or whatever that be."
"Leave it, Chotey. You won't understand," Di said, getting into the car, signalling that she was done with the conversation.
"Try me, Di. Please," Arnav said, as a final appeal to his sister. He too got inside the car and looked at his sister, who looked rather confused and pensive.
"Okay, I am doing this so that mom and dad will come to my house. I have been married for five years now and not once have they visited me. Not a single time."
"Come on, that can't be right. You and mom are always meeting for lunch and stuff."
"Yes, in someone else's house. Or in a restaurant. But she has never come to my home. Diwali Dinner is always at Raizada House. Holi celebrations is always at Raizada House. New Years Eve is at the club. And the rest of the year, they have some excuse or the other."
"I am sure it is not deliberate," Arnav said, only in a half convincing tone.
"Really, Arnav," Anjali said, almost cross-eyed because of the eye rolling, "This is our mother, Poonam Raizada we are talking about. Even her sneezes are deliberate."
"Especially her sneezes," Arnav said, grinning at his sister.
"So now you understand," Anjali said, "Why this pooja and the damn ladoos are important to me. I know it is silly and perhaps convoluted, but nobody ever turns down an invite for a pooja."
"True that," Arnav said, amused at how his sister had finally got the better of his mom, "One may not believe in God, but you don't want him as your adversary."
"Or her," Anjali was quick to point out.
"Or her," Arnav agreed as he did a mock-curtsy to his sister.
"But your fianc does not mind taking panga with Gods, eh?" Anjali Di asked, a sly smile on her face.
"Come on. Di," Arnav said, he really did not want to get drawn into taking sides on this match between his sister and fiance, "She really has a thing. You should give her a break, she anyway thinks that you don't like her very much."
"Well, that is not untrue," Anjali Di said, looked at him thoughtfully, "You know what, I would like her more if she were not marrying you."
"Hmm."
"Is that all you are going to say?"
"Yes."
"But just imagine, Chotey, a house that has Poonam Raizada and Payal Raizada, it can't be too much fun, can it?" Anjali said.
"Haha. Can we focus on the current problem, please? So, this is Delhi. It should not be so tough to get some ladoos here. Should we try the Bengali Sweets near home," Arnav suggested.
"Not Bengali Sweets," Anjali said rather vehemently.
"Why not?" Arnav wanted to know, " What have the good people of Bengali Sweets ever done to you?"
"I am married to a Bengali," Anjali said, as if that explained everything.
In reply, all Arnav could do was raise an eyebrow quizzically.
"See, Jun does not like Bengali Sweets" Anjali explained, Jun was her chosen name for her husband. He in turn called her Jhali, "He thinks it is cultural appropriation and does not approve it because there is nothing Bengali about them."
"Wow! Why did you marry him again?"
"Would you have rather that I remained single, stayed at home with you guys and have long and painful conversation about my future plans' with mom and dad during dinner," Anjali asked.
Di had a point. Mealtimes at Raizada House were an interesting experience to say the very least.
"I just Googled Delhi Motichoor Ladoo' and the very first match is Ghantewala Halwai in Chandni Chowk. We can't go to Chandni Chowk now. Or can we?" Anjali Di said as she scrolled past photographs of sumptuous looking motichoor ladoos on her phone.
This was just getting way out of hand, Arnav couldn't help but think. Perhaps he could convince Di to pick up motichoor ladoos from Tewari & Sons. No, why would he do that? She had erased his existence from his mind, surely he ought to do the same and not obsess about her. There were plenty of stores in South Delhi where they would get perfectly decent motichoor ladoos. In fact, all Di needed to do was to call up mum and she would have a truck full of motichoor ladoos arranged. What Mrs Bose could not do, Mrs Raizada could accomplish in a heartbeat.
"But I am sure they will not give us these many ladoos in such short notice," Anjali Di continued, though now she was off the ladoos page and instead was checking her mail.
I am sorry, but who are you?
This kept coming back to Arnav, bothering him more than it should. Payal was right after all, he had a very disturbing Khushi fixation. Over the last few days he played back the encounter with Khushi over and over again. Now normally if one were to meet someone who recognised you and you in turn did not, you would be slightly sheepish, guilty even. And most importantly you would actually ask the person to remind you how you know them. But Khushi did no such thing. She made a rather cutting, I am sorry, but who are you and then made no effort whatsoever to be reminded who he was. And not just that, she took the first opportunity and made an exit from the scene, not resurfacing. Of course, she recognised Arnav, she had not suffered some fatal injury that had left her with a compromised memory as NK had imagined. Nor was she a doppelgnger of Khushi. She was no evil twin of Khushi. She was Khushi Kumari Gupta, who had decided that she didn't want to recognise Arnav.
And even though Arnav knew it was ridiculous, inspired his sister's attempts to trap his mother, he too had an idea of smoking out Khushi. And Anjali Di had given him the perfect opportunity. He wanted to do this not because of his bruised ego at Khushi's indifference towards him. Well, that was one part of it. But he wanted to make something right. And if this was his twisted way for redemption, so be it.
"Di, do you remember that girl Khushi? I went to.."
"Of course, I do. Khushi Kumari Gupta, wasn't it? She was so cute. I remember the first time I met her, she thought you were going to ravage her and waited outside the house."
"What? No. We were children then."
"So, what about her? Why do you suddenly remember her, Chotey?"
"The other day Payal, NK and I were in Chandni Chowk. And we went to this mithai and snacks place called Tewari & Sons. We saw Khushi there. She was making jalebis."
"Really? Jun should meet her. He will be impressed that someone who is a product of a privileged education is actually doing real work. And give your nostrils a rest, I know you run a very successful business and are doing real work too."
"Funny, Di. Anyway, I am not sure if Khushi would agree to meet Jeeju, but she refused to recognise us. I said, hello and she said she did not who I was and walked away. It was pretty bizarre."
"Really? That is so funny," Anjali said with barely controlled laughter, "So when you guys were fifteen she wanted to run away from you and now in the ripe old age of twenty-eight she is doing the same. What kind of vibe are you giving out, Chotey?"
"Oh shut up, Di! I am trying to help you, remember. We could order motichoor ladoo from her, maybe?"
"I see what you are doing here. You are making mountain come to Mohammed."
"I have no idea what you are talking about even."
"See this is what I am doing with Mumma. Clearly you are drawing inspiration from me, Chotey. I approve."
"I am not Mohammed, Di,"
"But I still don't see why you need something so elaborate to speak with Khushi. And what are the chances that she is going to deliver sweets home. Plus, if she hates you, she may refuse the order or worse, poison all the ladoos."
"Mr and Mrs Bose can order it. So the Raizada conundrum will be taken care of. And I will go and pick up the ladoos. So."
"You are so sneaky, Chotey! Truly the worthy heir of Poonam Raizada."
"Your mom issues are reaching disturbing levels, Di."
"I know, Chotey. And I can't even afford therapy. Anyway, do what you must. Just get me my motichoor ladoos tomorrow, okay? Now drop me home, please."
The rush-hour traffic was at its peak now and it took them a little over an hour to get back to Anjali's place.
"Come upstairs, Chotey. Jun should be home soon. Have dinner with us."
"Not today, Di. I have a ton of work to do. And I will need to get off early from work tomorrow for your pooja."
"And the Chandni Chowk detour. You know for a short-while back when you were in college I thought Khushi would be my bhabhi."
"What?"
"Relax! I mean, I thought Aakash and Khushi would get together. But didn't happen. Go now and don't mess this up, Chotey."
"I won't, Di. I promise."
**
Tewari & Sons, Chandni Chowk was not so easy to find on the Internet. It took Arnav three attempts, all wrong numbers before he got the one he was looking for. Or at any rate he hoped that it was the one he was looking for.
"Tewari & Sons, Chandni Chowk?"
"Ji, boliye."
The voice at the other end was that of a little boy. Perhaps he was the same boy that Arnav had seen at the shop the other day.
"I needed to place an order.. ek order place karna tha."
Didi, koyi customer phone kar raha, kehta hain ki order hai. So didi was around. He had got the right place.
Pooch ki kya chahiye. Arnav had to strain his ears, but there was no doubt it was in fact her.
"Kya chahiye, sir?"
"Paanch Sau motichoor ladoo. Kal shaam tak. Teen baje tak."
Paanch sau, the boy exclaimed.
Didi, koyi paanch sau motichoor ladoo bol raha hai. The little boy relayed to Didi.
Koyi fraud toh nahin hain. Phone de mujhe.
Arnav was not sure what to do now. Would she recognise his voice? Would his contrived plan fail even before it took off? Should he do a fake voice. No, his inner voice sternly admonished him. That would not do. If she recognised him, then he didn't even need to go through this plan and if she didn't recognise him, then this plan would help him.
"Tewari & Sons. Aap kahan se bol rahe hain?"
"Ji. Vasant Kunj."
"Bahut door hain. Delivery nahi hoga wahan tak."
"Main khud aakar le jaoonga."
"Acha. Aapka naam?"
"Order Anjali Bose ke naam banana. Main uska bhai hoon."
"Poora payment advance mein dena padega aapko."
"What? Kya? Aisa kaise?"
"Agar aap aaye hi nahin toh?"
"Theekh hai. Abhi kissi ke haath bhijvata hoon. Lekin kal teen baje tak tayyar rakhna sab."
"Ji."
"Aapka naam kya hain?"
"Ji?"
"Matlab, paise kiske haath doon."
"Tewari & Sons, 23, Chandni Chowk. Pawan Ojha, wohi cashier hain."
"Aur aapka naam. Agar woh na mile toh."
"Khushi. Khushi Kumari Gupta"
"Thanks... shukriya."
**
"Didi, aaj kitna bada order aa gaya. Aur phone maine liye tha,"
"Haan. Tu toh Lucky Charm hain, Aarav, maine bataya tha na?"
"Toh order ke paise aayenge toh aap mujhe mobile dilaoge, Didi?"
"Nahin. Abhi mobile walli umar nahin hain tumhari."
"Kya, Didi?! Main aapki madad bhi kroonga."
"Koyi zaroorat nahin hain. Tu jaakar apna homework kar. Aur mujhe Didi bulana bandh kar. Main toh bua hoon na?"
Once Khushi managed to get Aarav to leave, she took out the order notebook and wrote neatly:
Anjali Bose, Vasant Kunj, 500 motichoor ladoos. She made some calculations on the side, putting down ingredient costs and profit margin. When Anjali Bose's brother had called, she had pulled a number out of her head and quoted. Now based on her calculations, it seemed that she had overcharged him and while Khushi felt a tiny pang about it, but she shrugged it off. Tewari & Sons barely managed to break-even on most occasions, so an occasional win would be nice.
How did Anjali Bose hear about Tewari & Sons, she wondered. She should check with that brother guy tomorrow. Maybe she would learn something useful.
So Tewari & Sons will live some more, Khushi thought as she shut down the store and put the two padlocks in place. And as she walked home, she realised, that right there was both a blessing and a curse.
**
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