Authors: Madhuri Banerjee
There are three things a Delhi woman loves to do: Go to the parlour, shopping, and meeting friends.
The top of the list was always the parlour. Delhi women go to the parlour for every reason they can find: a manicure, pedicure, hair spa, a blow dry, a facial treatment. And every Delhi woman had a favourite parlour. Ayesha’s was Pinky’s Parlour. It was her favourite place to relax in her neighbourhood. Pinky pampered her and always gave her lovely adrak wali chai. Pinky had a staff of a few women and two men who gave the most delicious pedicures and hair spas. They knew just the places on a woman’s feet to press to give immense pleasure. At any given time women were getting pedicures or head massages at Pinky’s parlour.
For Ayesha it wasn’t the massage but the constant gossip and chat with Pinky that made her day interesting.
‘Ayesha! Kaisi hai?’ Pinky asked as soon as Ayesha entered the door.
‘I’m fine! How are you? Have you lost weight? You’re looking so thin!’
Pinky, who was five feet two inches tall, weighing some eighty-two kilos, blushed. ‘Haan yaar. I have lost two kilos. I have been starving myself for the last one week.’
‘Starving? Why? How?’ Ayesha sat down on the soft, bright red sofa next to Pinky.
‘All the Diwali mithai I ate. Made me put on three kilos. So for the last week I only ate fruits and dahi. Have you heard of this GM diet? By God maine do din kiya aur mein mar gayi. Then I ate all the calories I lost and from then I went to a new dietician and started a new diet. It’s been three days and I’ve lost two kilos.’
‘So you mean you actually put on one kilo.’ Ayesha reasoned.
‘No no. This is a cleanse diet. You must try it. Only juices and fruits. It’s quite healthy. In any case. Tu toh iti slim hai. You don’t need to diet. I hate you!’
Ayesha laughed out loud. That was Pinky’s way of saying she was jealous but she said it with love and a smile. ‘It’s just genes. My mother is thin.’
Pinky scrutinized Ayesha from top to bottom. ‘True. That’s why you don’t have breasts only. Small little nimbus you have.’
Ayesha blushed. But Pinky quickly said, ‘What difference does it make? Men still love any breasts. Stupid creatures. Women have made whole careers of flaunting their breasts. No brains, nothing. So you should always be proud of yours!’
Ayesha thought Pinky was too abrasive since she spoke about taboo topics but didn’t say anything.
‘Chal are you getting a pedicure done? Anything else? Chalo change kar hi lo. Pata nahin baad mein aur kya karwaogi.’
Ayesha nodded and Pinky shouted to the room where some clients were already sitting and a few men in Pinky’s Parlour uniform were standing around, ‘Manoj! Pedicure le leh Madam ki. Sunita, gown de de.’
Ayesha changed into a thin, strappy gown, put a towel over her shoulders and sat down on a warm, cushy leather chair. She then dipped her feet in hot, bubbly water.
‘Paani theek hai?’ Manoj asked as his fingers caressed her toes lightly under the bubbles.
Over the next 45 minutes or so, Manoj cleaned, buffed, scraped, pulled, tugged and pressed her legs, knees and ankles and slapped all the fat of her calves back into shape. It was his way of giving her a strong pedicure and Ayesha loved it. He dropped cream on to her legs in small drops all the way from her ankle to her thighs. The cold drops hit her skin and made it tingle. Then he began to slowly make circular movements around each drop, moving his hands up her legs to gently caress her thighs. Ayesha rolled her head back and closed her eyes. It felt warm and fuzzy. She could feel herself getting moist as her legs were being massaged by a complete stranger. Then he wrapped a hot towel around her legs and slowly moved his thumbs from the base of her feet, up towards her calves and thighs. Ayesha gulped. A simple pedicure could feel so good.
‘Hair spa, hair oil nahin karengi, Madam?’ Manoj asked as he lay his full palms on her legs and thighs. Ayesha rolled her head back and said, ‘Karwa hi lo!’
Then Manoj called for some hot oil and started rubbing it on Ayesha’s head and slowly moved down to her shoulders and back. He moved his hands over the towel down her back, slowly kneading his fingers into her spine. Then he moved in front and caressed her collar bone, moving gently over the top part of her breasts over her gown, never going lower.
‘Pressure theek hai?’
That was the signal if you wanted him to do more. And Ayesha, whose only kink in her otherwise staid life was this weekly hair oil massage, replied, ‘Thoda aur pressure chahiye.’
He moved his hands magically over her clothes, down her back and her sides till all her erogenous zones were aroused and she could feel a moistness between her thighs. She gave him an extra tip when he finished.
She looked amazing with soft hair that was neatly blow dried and nails that sparkled for an evening on the town.
Pinky asked, ‘Service kaisa tha?’
Ayesha smiled. ‘As usual, amazing.’ She handed Pinky her payment.
Pinky smiled a knowing look, ‘But why all this sajna dhajna?’
‘The new HRD minister, Harshvardhan Singhania, has called us to his place for dinner. I must look my best.’
‘Of course,’ Pinky smiled. ‘And you’re looking lovely. I’m sure he’ll be impressed!’
‘Oh I don’t know about that. I don’t even know if I’ll get to meet him.’
‘Well, all the best.’ They said their goodbyes.
Ayesha was looking forward to the last dinner of the season. She would make a dazzling impression at this politician’s place. Even if she was a housewife, she would be the only housewife anyone ever noticed in that party!
Ayesha dressed carefully for the evening. A gorgeous black chikan sari with mukaish work all over it that made her sparkle like a diamond. She accessorized with a chunky red stone Amrapalli necklace and stuck to her small diamond earrings. With bright red nail polish on her fingers and toes and her gorgeous hair blow-dried to perfection around her face, she looked the epitome of the perfect bureaucrat’s wife. A trophy wife, if one could say so.
As they walked into a large bungalow, Ayesha felt a little nervous. She had never been to a politician’s house. And what if she said something wrong, would it affect her husband’s career?
They entered straight into the lawns of the politician’s bungalow from the side entrance. It was lit up with twinkling lights hanging from trees and several round tables with crisp, white table cloths that had a bowl of flowers on each. There were waiters in uniforms who were serving people drinks and snacks. A buffet counter was placed at one end. The host, Harshvardhan Singhania, was greeting people casually, sitting with everyone and chatting with the bodyguards around him.
‘Arrey Mika aane waalla hai.’
She heard snippets of a conversation that some ladies were having while sitting at a table.
‘Arrey nahin Sunny Leone aa rahi hai.’
‘Sach?!’ one woman gasped, catching her neck as if the thought had choked her.
‘Yeah. Apparently she will perform also.’
‘My husband will toh die only!’ another woman said as she giggled. ‘He loves that song Pink Lips!’
‘Nahin nahin Baby Doll hai woh gaana.’
Ayesha smiled as she kept walking. She knew she wouldn’t get along well with these women and she wanted to have a drink. She moved towards the bar when Varun brought over a colleague of his, ‘Ayesha, I want you to meet Sanjay. He has just come to town with his wife.’ Varun added a few more sentences to Sanjay’s introduction and said, ‘He needs my help with a new project. Hopefully hum saath mein kaam karenge ab.’
Sanjay smiled. ‘Inshallah! Namaste, Ayeshaji.’
Ayesha folded her hands. ‘Namaste. Kabhi aayie humarey yahan.’
Varun felt proud of his wife. ‘Yeh bohat achcha biryani banati hain.’
‘Achcha? That’s remarkable. Ab toh aana hi padega.’
Ayesha excused herself, saying she needed to find a restroom. She was instantly bored and the night had not even started yet. Varun introduced her to the same type of people with the same dialogue. And all Varun could convey about her was her cooking. She had more skills than that! She was an intelligent and talented human being. And here she was, being demoted to a cook whose only task was to make sure her family was well-fed. As a housewife she should have been happy with just that, she presumed, but she wasn’t. She felt restless and upset.
Maybe it was the cold air that was giving her a headache or the dullness of the conversations but she started walking towards the house to get away from the party and the cold air.
She entered the house from a side entrance and started looking for a restroom. But curiosity got the better of her and she decided to have a look around this politician’s house. She always liked seeing how people decorated their homes and she especially wondered how a bachelor politician like Harshvardhan would do it up. He had only been in his position for a month but he was already being groomed to be the possible next Prime Minister in the next elections. She knew one could tell a lot about a man by the way he kept his house.
She had a quick look to check if any one was following her as she walked into the drawing room. It was a two-storey house in the most posh locality of Delhi. The drawing room was simple, with a plain beige sofa at one end and a TV at the other. A large Turkish carpet sat in the middle. As she walked further, she entered an office. There was a large L-shaped mahogany table in the front with a red swivel chair at the back. There were a few photos of Mahatma Gandhi and Mother Teresa hanging on the walls and a set of black-andwhite pictures of a couple on the desk facing him. There was a computer on one side of the table and a stack of files. To one side there was a wall-to-wall bookshelf. Ayesha walked up to the bookshelf to see the kind of books this politician kept. They ranged from economics to Stephen King, from maps to motorcycles, and from history books to Nobel Prize winners on different shelves.
‘What do you like to read?’
Ayesha jumped up, startled by the voice behind her. She turned around and saw Harshvardhan standing there, smiling with his hands folded behind his back.
She asked another question in reply. ‘Have you read all these books? Or are they just for show?’
Harshvardhan laughed. His voice was deep, melodious. ‘Who would I show them to?’
Ayesha was quickly embarrassed at being tactless. ‘I’m sorry if I offended you. I didn’t mean to. And sorry for barging into your study, I didn’t mean to do that either. Before I could stop myself I was wandering around.’
‘No it’s perfectly fine. I’m Harshvardhan.’
Ayesha smiled. ‘Ayesha.’
‘It’s lovely to meet you, Ayesha.’
‘You truly have a lovely place.’
‘Thank you. Most of the stuff a designer handles but there are a few things I love. Like this bookshelf. Do you like reading?’
‘Oh, immensely. I don’t get enough time to, though.’
‘What do you read?’
‘A lot of fiction. But I feel liked I’m moving away from it. Tired of the same old stories discussing relationships. I’ve recently discovered Osho.’ Ayesha surprised herself by discussing her reading habits with this stranger/politician. This was the most random conversation she had ever had in her life and yet it made sense.
‘I’ve just been reading my files. Inundated with them actually. I would really just like to sit in peace somewhere and read some Thich Nhat Hanh. Have you heard of him?’
Ayesha shook her head. Harshvardhan continued, ‘He writes about mindfulness. Better than Osho.’ He walked to the bookshelves and ran a finger over the spines, looking for a title. He picked one out. ‘Why don’t you borrow this,’ he said as he handed the book over to Ayesha. ‘Tell me what you think of it.’
‘You want my opinion on it?’ Ayesha was a little stunned.
‘Sure. If you get a chance to read it.’
‘Of course.’ She smiled as she took the book from his hand. ‘I would love to get back to you on that.’
Harshvardhan walked over to his desk and that’s when Ayesha noticed him properly. He was in his late 40s, maybe early 50s at the most, probably the youngest HRD minister in the cabinet. His hair was black and showing a few strands of grey at the temples. His eyes were dark green brown and he walked with nonchalant grace. He towered at maybe over six feet tall. Ayesha at just five feet two inches felt even smaller.
His profile as he looked down at his desk suggested a stubbornness that came with great power and struggle. His square jaw thrust forward as he picked up a piece of paper and turned around to address her.
‘I want to help the girl child in India,’ he said. His skin taut over his elegant cheekbones, he spoke loudly and clearly with authority, demanding attention. ‘My speech tonight is going to be about that. What do you think of this idea?’ He looked down to read as he flicked his glasses out from a case and perched them on his nose. ‘If I suggest empowerment of women through education of every girl child from the villages to the towns because each and every daughter is important to India. And that’s why we need to educate them to build a stronger nation.’
He paused, looked at her intently as if asking for her approval. Ayesha would have immediately said yes. Sure, it was a great idea. But she had another one. ‘While the idea is wonderful and noble,’ she began with a bit of hesitation, ‘the media unfortunately won’t lap it up. Every act of a politician’s life and his success is based on the perception the media gives to the people.’
‘Yes I know that,’ he said. ‘And?’
‘It’s been done before. While everyone thinks education of the girl child is important the burning question today is safety for women. That should be your agenda. Then feeding every girl child. Because if they’re hungry, then they won’t learn anything anyway. That is a very complicated process if you ask me.’
Harshvardhan’s eyes were instantly alive. ‘Go ahead, tell me more.’
Ayesha walked around slowly, thinking as she spoke and gesticulating with her hands as she explained, ‘Well the infrastructure of many places has improved but the safety of women in towns and in villages has not. You need a simple solution.’
Then he noticed how beautiful she was. She had a petite and taut body with luscious long auburn hair, a small diamond nose ring that offset her smoky, chocolate-coloured eyes and a sun-kissed complexion. She wrinkled her nose as she spoke and he immediately found this extremely endearing. He had never been with a woman who could carry off a sari so elegantly or someone who could challenge him with such clarity.
‘Employ more police?’ Harshvardhan found himself engaging in a thoughtful discussion with this charming young woman. ‘That will need more funds and further talk.’
‘No,’ Ayesha said, surprising him and herself, too. But she continued, ‘You need to have well-lit areas in every metro and train station in your district. Even within the compartments. Tube lights at every corner and maybe even CCTV cameras. Safety for women on public transport. Autos that will go after dark for a woman passenger, no matter how short the distance is or else they will be hauled to jail. Emergency phones that if picked up, call the police station immediately, at strategic points near bus stops. There needs to be a fear that people can’t get away with the rape and assault or harassment of women. The judiciary can’t do that much. They need to know that they can get caught!’
Harshvardhan nodded. ‘So if I start with the metros in urban areas beginning with Delhi, besides well-lit areas, maybe I can enforce a separate metro for women late in the nights where there will be cameras in every bogey so they can feel safe.’
‘Yes, maybe.’
He walked grandly towards the door, ‘I’ll need to get a few more ministers involved with this. Great. So can we go now so that I can give this speech?’
‘What about the speech that you were making?’
‘I’ll figure it out,’ he said with a smile. He was known for his great extempore speeches and his ability to charm a crowd. He had completely floored Ayesha with his magnetic personality and humility.
He gestured for her to leave his office. He stopped her for a moment as she passed him and she could feel his breath upon her face as he spoke softly, ‘Thank you. Thank you…’ He waited for her to say her name and with a mere whisper she replied, ‘Ayesha.’ Later she would find out that he already knew her name.
‘Thank you, Ayesha.’ He smelt like a combination of fresh cologne and Ariel detergent.
‘You have a beautiful house,’ she said with a smile.
‘Thank you. Someday I hope to show you the rest of it,’ and he meant it. This was an association that he knew would not end that night.
As they walked outside, bodyguards immediately surrounded Harshvardhan as Ayesha walked in another direction to find Varun. She stopped suddenly and realized that she hadn’t even told the politician who her husband was. How would he know? Harshvardhan spent a few minutes in a corner speaking on his mobile phone. She noticed how he seemed enthusiastic with her idea and was nodding his head patiently as he heard the person on the phone.
Soon enough, an emcee announced that Harshvardhan was now going to give his speech. Ayesha looked around and saw that there was a small stage at the front of the lawn which had just lit up with diyas. She saw Harshvardhan ascend the stage in a stately manner. He greeted the crowd, ‘Namaste.’
He began his speech. ‘Thank you everyone for joining me on this wonderful evening. I hope you have enough drinks and food. I hope you’re happy and well looked after. I don’t have a wife but I’m sure that my boys will be more than willing to help all of you. I have spoken to many of you and am glad I’ve gotten to know you better.’
As he spoke, Ayesha noticed that he kept searching in the crowds for someone and she felt she needed to be in the light. She moved slightly towards a more prominent, sharper focus light coming from a lamp and he suddenly caught her eye before he continued.
‘As you know I am planning to make several changes for women. The first thing I want to start out with is safety.’
There was loud applause from several women in the audience and he seemed pleased that they approved of his idea.
‘I believe that all women are strong and independent and can make this nation great. They not only need freedom to do as they please, but also the support of the government to give them the safety to do so. And with this I propose a new scheme. A special metro train that will run at specific times only for women. It will have a special police force to keep the women safe even if they choose to travel late in the night to their destinations. Along with this we will install many more lights at the stations for them to walk freely. I will also ensure autos have a ‘call the police’ facility if the auto wala refuses to take a woman passenger after sunset. I want to assure you that these are just a few of my plans to keep all of you safe, to keep this city safe and to work towards a government that is for you,’ he paused and looked straight at Ayesha before he concluded his speech with a sentence, ‘Be safe. Be happy. I’m with you, for you, always.’ The crowd applauded as he bowed his head and said, ‘Please enjoy your evening. Dinner is served. I hope to meet more of you later this evening.’ And then he looked around and Ayesha knew that part was also directed at her.
Through the rest of the evening, Varun stuck next to her as they moved from one couple to another making polite conversation. They finished their dinner and Ayesha said she was feeling tired. They decided to leave. It had become quite cold and despite the Pashmina shawl that Ayesha wrapped around herself, the biting wind was giving her another headache.
As they were leaving they found the politician and Varun said politely as Ayesha stood a step away from him, ‘Thank you so much, Sir for having us. We truly had a wonderful time.’