Put some mud on it.
When did I first start taking her seriously?
Not right away, I can tell you that much. I was always a sore loser. My sourness quickly changed to bitterness as she joined Bittuji's infinite yearlong celebrations of nothing. She would wear elaborate costume-esque dresses. The kind that make you check your privilege and then hers ten times over. I hated her khaadi saris. Not like she is a Gandhi. Total wannabe! Yes, the style was admirable at first glance but how can a woman barely in college keep up heritage fashion trends if not for daddy's money? So, one of these drunken nights I confronted her. Don't know what got into me but, I told her what I wanted to tell her all along.
"You are a spoiled rotten brat", I pulled on the gold lace that covered her shoulders.
"I am Madhubala". She extended her hand out for greeting as if nothing happened.
I took it in contempt.
"You think wearing a khaadi sari makes you any more conscious than all the other women wearing silk which costs the same amount of money? You think you are better than them, haan?"
She did not answer. Instead, she took my hand in hers and dragged me out to the parking lot.
"Let me take you to my personal shopping mall", she said and her car did not stop until we reached the outskirts of the city. The neighbourhood was full of modest but clean residences. Her key opened doors to a textile manufacturing hub. Before I could count to ten, I was surrounded by a dozen women of all ages, shapes and sizes showing me around the place. They all worked for her and then there was a teenage boy, her personal tailor master.
I was not instantly humbled or enchanted or anything of that sort. So she was helping some poor people
she knew. Big deal! Could be a PR thing. She looked like a fox to begin with.
"What's your story? What gives you the right to question me, you little bitch?" She was flustered and very outraged by my accusations. Especially since she had just proven them false. I was certain she was not drunk so, I went on safe side and blamed narcotics (aka weed laddoos) for the slip of tongue. No one dares misbehave with Rishabh Kundra when sober.
"I am not like you white picket fence suburbia do-gooders. I lived in the real India, alright! My mother wouldn't change my soiled diaper because she was too busy entertaining men while my father was out. I watched her do this for seventeen years before I rat her out. All for what? Only to find out that my father had no penile control. He f***ed anything with a skirt. I bet you he has more children out there than he can count. You rich girl trying to do charity, you don't know what it is like to hurt", I punched the air.
"Yeah well, put some mud on it", she chuckled and drove me back in silence.
We never spoke of the incident again. In fact, I wished to forget ever meeting her. How could a woman be so insensitive? So uptight? Only self-righteous when convenient. I was certain she was a born politician, I mean she meet the standards of hypocrisy. But, I got the shock of my life that day in Crisis Management class when a woman banged open the doors searching for Madhu.
"Haaye meri Noori ko khaa gaye. Kha gaye madumji, meri Noori. Allah, koyi kyun nahi bachaya meri Noori? Haaye Allah!"
I vividly remember the middle aged woman with a painted face who came crying down and clung to her feet. Madhu was her Goddess, her messiah and she had to resurrect Noori from the dead. "Bhediye kha gaye meri bacchi ko". The woman had pushed her out of the room with the intensity of heightened emotions. That was the first time I had seen Madhu cry. She hugged the woman and led her out of our classroom. I saw they both weeping uncontrollably outside the corridor. Madhu had never looked so disturbed in her life. As soon as she left to make a call, I followed the hysterical woman when I had my chance.
"Who are you? Are you alright?" I enquired.
"Saabji, mein Chandni. My daughter Noori was twelve years old. We lived in a brothel up at JP road. Madum told me to get Noori out. They came before I escaped. They took my Noori to Sonagaachi, Kalkatta".
Before I could continue with the conversation, Madhu put her arm around Chandni and buried her sobbing face in her designer gown. Now I truly understood why she said, "Put some mud on it".
Ye Hai Mohabbatein
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