Adventures of Madhuri - chapter 1

Chapter 1: Off the roundabout Madhuri Murungakay swung off the back of the double decker bus just as it swerved in a swooping arch around the sainted circle. Chiffon chunni gaily dotted with yellow daisies, smaller versions of the larger and brighter ones on her salwar below, and edged with orange piping that reflected off the stripes of the kurta and her cotton tiffin bag lined in plastic, Madhuri, for some reason irksome to the bored Monday morning multitudes around her, was happy.
She positively twinkled with joy, and her shiny glass bangles coloured in a metallic tint no less, and purchased only yesterday morning at the front porch of her grandmother’s leafy Matunga home, one of the few to still have wither leaves or porches to boast of – reminded her with each twinkle of the fact that no Monday morning training programme could impinge on her good humour.
The roundabout braced itself for the careening overloaded bus, and seemed to shrink back in anticipation of who would take the jump this morning. The wrapper from Vela Venkat’s chocolate bar lay on an aloe vera plant pot at its rim. A twelve year old boy was sticking up posters of the job fair around it and had decided to take a nap under the left over leaves stacked on the cans. The idle black and yellow taxi drivers rimmed it with their beedi butts, and the roundabout would have liked to tell them it was meant for and built for greater things in South Mumbai – Mercedeses and BMWs skirted it gracefully, and elegant young women pointed their polished nails towards its magical fountain stones while asking the way to someplace or the other. But of late, over the past ten years or so actually, the riff raff had grown and the respect had decreased. The roundabout was feeling extremely defaced. And it wondered, like the officers at the Vidhan sabha beyond who gathered round to share-a-cab at 5.15 every evening, would this country ever change?
Landing ever so lightly on her unheeled chappals with the deftness of a seasoned commuter, and letting go of the central pole of the bus in motion at just about the right time, Madhuri tossed her braid behind her, tossed her ticket into the hoary garden of the roundabout and walked in the general direction of somewhere intelligent, like a gymnast whose performance is to be rated by the elegance of the walk away. Taking a mental note of the appreciative glances of the bleary eyed boys in the corner tea stall, much woken up by this vision of sprightliness before them, Madhuri marched off to ask the way to Tulsiani chambers well in time for her interview.

Shankar Shana had woken up on the wrong side of bed that morning – literally. Instead of waking up on his right, he placed his unusually large feet on the left of the little wooden cot. Not only did the cot groan, but Shankar’s little sister, Shendi, got his foot squarely in her face. She was not in the least pleased. Shankar merely removed his foot, looked around the one room kitchen in Dadar, the Godrej cupboard his brother had got as dowry when he married five years ago with a suitcase used for trips to nani’s house in Pune, and sighed. He could not go into the kitchen to brush his teeth until bhabhi had finished dressing for work, so he went to the corridor like balcony that ran the length of the building, and that connected the Shanas to their ten neighbours homes, taking care not to step on the brightly coloured rangoli little Sowmya next door painstakingly drew out every dawn, and foamed away at the mouth in full public view. At least, he thought to himself, Sunita or whatever her name was in the window opposite would need to change her clothes for work in about a minute or two.
Baba would be back from his night shift in an hour. He had taken voluntary retirement from a mill company – one of the fortunate few to have been offered any compensation at all – and now worked as a night security supervisor for an industrial unit at Mhape. Bhau, Sundar bhau, was at the local shakha most of the time. He was under training to be a local politician and took care of affairs of the neighbourhood – water shortages, garbage collection, procuring ration cards and school admissions for the neighbours kids, etc, etc. But frankly, as long as the family did not have to pay his debts or fight off his creditors, they were pretty much happy to not know what exactly it was he did.
All the peace in the house, and there sure was plenty of that they all acknowledged, was thanks to Savita bhabhi. Ever since bhau had married her their fortunes had changed. She was fair, tall, and sweet natured. She was convent educated and worked as a typist in a local IT office. The IT company handled clients from overseas – America and the UK, and when bhabhi worked late, and air conditioned car dropped her to her doorstep. It was a matter of great prestige. Even the boys at the maidan knew – Shankar’s bhabhi was a class apart.
His cell phone rang, it was Lala. But Sunita had just come to the window and he was too distracted to talk. He quickly smsed back "Mt at rndabt. Will go frm there" it said, and quickly turned back to await the proceedings of the day. Today the boys were heading for the job fair at the Bhaut Bachta maidan. There were going to be present companies from more than ten cities. Shankar had heard of boys whose lives had changed overnight at these places – jobs in America, accommodation, fat salaries, cars, happy marriages, everything could fall into place on a good day. Today was a good day. He instinctively looked away as Sunita across the road changed her clothes, and he felt the virtue well up inside his heart and choke his throat, obliterating any memory of his sister’s yelps as he had had landed one of his large feet on her face. He was a good man, and on good days, good things happen to good men.

Usha Uttam was in no mood for jokes or pranks this morning. She wrinkled her brows at the taxi men and conveyed her sentiments to his request for change. She need have said no more. Indeed, she didn’t. Ramram Bhole, migrant from Bihar, was used to the Mumbai madam. He could spot them by the clack clack of their heels, the labels of their jeans pant, and the way the clasps of their bags were always turned inwards towards their bosoms, ample or otherwise. The pickpockets steered clear of them too, particularly at peak hours, where one too many an eager pilferer had been bashed and ear twisted by hoards of window seat hungry home going women. The second season in which to stay away, Bhole could have told you, was the monsoons, when each armed herself with that weapon of mass destruction – the pointy folding umbrella that jabbed easily into an eve teaser’s side, and the plastic rainy chappal – bound to sting and rebound even, when used as a slapping device. These were the women who, on the flip side, always carried change, and produced reams of gossip uttered in loud and clear tones in the backseat of the cab. They also took down your taxi number and licence number in a pinch. Ramram had been wisely well taught never to argue with them. He merely picked the coins off the dashboard and turning to madam said "Rs 7 madam, have nice day."
Usha, late for her morning round of interviews at the head office, and expecting another set of fresh graduates over enthusiastic and under trained, merely grunted in the most polite fashion possible and pulled up the latch of the door, as if it were a reluctant fate unwilling to do her bidding. "Test B" she thought to herself viciously to herself for no apparent reason, "the hard one!"
Sure enough, the elevator line to the left, the visitors’ line, was almost like a candidate shopping grocery shelf. Usha eliminated them as her line shortened, "but" she said, sucking in her stomach, "we shall give them one fair chance, each."
Madhuri nervously gripped her folder to her chest and sat as primly as she could. She had read that the true sign of a well bred woman is one who never crosses her legs in company, merely her ankles, and as uncomfortable a pose as it was to hold, she held it now, hoping it made her look composed. And she fervently hoped no one knew how nervously numb she was feeling at this moment.
Vela Venkat, sitting across from her listlessly, was watching her every move and the continually contorting facial expressions, wondering if she was in some sort of pain. He was just about to ask when Usha Uttam, clattered noisily, but purposefully, into the room to make an announcement.
‘Thank you all for coming," she said, looking at nobody in particular. "You will shortly be handed a written test for which you will have twenty minutes to complete." We will speak to you individually after your results are discussed. Now, please take coffee from the pantry."
Even Madhuri, who had never tasted coffee before, obediently filed out of the room to find the shelter of the coffee machine.
The coffee machine, one that dispensed three flavours of cappuccino no less, and all for free, was lodged against a glass door that cordoned off the rest of the office from the vestibule that held the newcomers. It loomed and waned, it waxed and grew in importance, even mightier than the bumbling graduates that bowed before it, trying to figure out the instructions in more than three languages-two too many than they knew-on it. It was probably the most crucial part of management recruitment strategy, but Madhuri didn’t know that, to overawe newcomers and beat down the asking price. After having seen the always glittering glass room – air conditioned, with more computers than any of them had ever seen in a room before, impeccably dressed and confident executives barely older than they were bubbling with enthusiasm, confidence, purpose, and more importantly, obviously money – who wouldn’t want to join. By the time the mandatory coffee break was done, Madhuri, Vela Venkat and the rest of them, were ready to be plucked.
Usha Uttam could have sharpened her brain with a sharpener that morning if there was such an appliance and it could not have been sharper, or have shone more menacingly than it did now. The company was growing, and she had in front of her a target of recruiting 1000 new graduates to fulfil the companies need within the next six months. This first phase was going good, and as the graduates filed back into the room eager to be picked, it was almost as if she could smell fresh, young blood.