Adultery Unfaithful Mothers and Housewives - Stranger_Women

Mansi could not believe how fast the lift reached all the way up to the 35th floor. The lifts she was used to, took that much time to reach 4 floors. She stepped out into a floor that was even more fancy than the lobby. She felt a little intimidated. But Reena aunty was expecting her. She went to Suite 3502 and knocked.

The door was opened by an unknown person. A tall old man in a suit, with half-bald white hair and a big belly.

"Oh I am sorry." Mansi said and looked at the number outside the door.

"You must be Mansi." the man flashed her a friendly smile. "Don't worry, you're not in the wrong place."

"Come on in. Mansi!" she heard Reena aunty's voice from behind the old man. He stepped away and opened the door wide. He saw Reena aunty putting some glasses on a coffee table.

"Oh, I didn't..." Mansi was a little taken aback. She had not expected anyone else to be there. But she still walked in, feeling out of place again.

"Sorry if this gentle giant scared you." Reena aunty smiled. "Let me introduce you two. This is an old family friend of mine, Mr. Navin Dutt. And as I told you, Duttsahab, this is my old neighbor from Meerut Mansi."

"Pleased to meet you, Mansiji." he politely folded his hands.

"He lives in Delhi. Called me a little while ago saying he was in Bombay for a business trip, so how about lunch? I assumed you wouldn't mind if he joined us."

"Not at all." Mansi politely said, although she was a little disappointed. With someone else there, she would not be able to be very open in her conversations. And would not feel comfortable bringing up the topic of a job.

The three of them headed towards the plush couches in the living area.

"Some beer, Mansiji?" Dutt asked pointing at the glasses on the table.

"No, thanks. I don't drink."

"Some orange juice then?" Reena aunty asked.

"Sure."

"Let me go get it."

Reena went into another room as Mansi sat on the couch. She could not believe how deep her petite body sank in. Dutt sat on a single seat perpendicular to her and smiled. There was an awkward silence.

"So Mansiji, how long have you lived in Bombay?" he broke the silence.

"Eight years. And please don't call me ji, Duttsahab. You are my elder." Mansi respectfully said, remembering her manners.

"Are you calling me an old foggy?" Dutt feigned feeling hurt.

"No no, I didn't mean it like that." Mansi immediately explained.

"Haha, relax. I am just joking. Okay, I will call you just Mansi."

"Hehe." she smiled.

Although she had initially been disappointed to see him there, as time went by, she got used to his presence. Dutt was a very charming old man, great at conversations.

"Eight years...do you like it here?" he asked.

"It is what it is." she shrugged.

"I can never get used to Bombay, although I have been coming here for decades. The humidity, the crowds, the smells...it's all so overwhelming."

"Yes, that it is."

"Very different from Meerut, huh?"

"Very different."

That's when Reena came out with a class of juice for Mansi.

"Don't tell me you are chewing her ear off already, Duttsahab." she said jovially. "Mansi, this man can talk the paint off the walls."

She laughed, as did Dutt. Mansi politely joined in as she took the juice.

"So...I have my two dear old friends here. I wish we could go out for lunch. But I have a ticking clock. So I just ordered some room service for us. Hope that is okay."

"Of course." Mansi said. She was looking forward to whatever yummy pricey food aunty would order now.

"By the way, Duttsahab is a business tycoon in Delhi. He owns factories, theaters, retail stores, and what else I am sure even he can't remember."

"Don't embarrass me, Reena." Dutt smiled with false modesty. "It's just god's grace. Nothing more. What business is your husband into, Mansi?"

"He isn't in business. He is a college professor. History."

"Oh history? It was my favorite subject in college. If I hadn't gotten into business, I too would have ended up in the world of history. I need to meet professor sahab sometime and pick his brains. What is his specialty?"

"World war 2."

"Oh, I love that topic. Blitz Krieg. Battle of the Bulge. Vichy France. The siege of..."

Mansi winced a little bit, which Reena noticed.

"Yes yes Duttsahab. you are very learned. Stop it." she jumped in.

"What happened? Did I say something wrong?"

"She is married to a history professor. I am sure she gets to hear all this non stop. Don't bore her more."

Again the two laughed. And Mansi joined in.

"Is it true, Mansi? Do you find history boring?" Dutt asked looking into the demure housewife's eyes.

"Not boring as such." Mansi said shrugging. "But you know, when you keep hearing about it all the time..."

"I understand. We shall drop the subject at once. What are your interests? What are your...passions?" Dutt said that last word with a little bit of passion in it himself.

Reena said to herself, take it easy, old man. Don't overdo it.

"My interests?" Mansi was taken aback.

"Yes, what do you love? What excites you?"

He looked at her as did Reena. Mansi couldn't think of anything to say. No one had asked her this before. She herself hadn't really thought about it ever. The only life she knew was of a housewife and a mother.

"My daughter."

"That's not what I am talking about. Everyone is passionate about their kids. I have three of them myself. Two daughters and a son. With kids of their own. What i am asking you is, outside of your family and your commitments and responsibilities, what excites you?"

Mansi had no answer.

"Will you stop grilling her, Duttsahab?" Reena reached over and slapped him on his arm. "That's the problem with you tycoons. Every interaction is an interview."

"It's okay." Mansi smiled. "I just haven't thought about it."

"Ok, here's an old test. Let's say someone gave you unlimited amounts of money. After buying a great house, setting aside money for kids etc etc. What would you spend it on?"

"Tra..."

"Don't say travel. Everyone likes to travel."

That's when there was a knock on the door.

"The food is here." Reena said and got up to open it. "Let's move to the dining table."

A waiter came in with a trolley of food.as Mansi and Dutt walked to the ornate glass table by the edge of the suite. As he started uncovering and putting the bowls on the table, Mansi realized that it was Chinese food. She liked Chinese food. The kind they had from street carts once in a while at Pinky's insistence. But this looked very different.

"Please, have a seat." Reena said. "I hope you like Chinese food, Mansi. This is real Chinese food from our hotel's highly rated restaurant. The chef is from Shanghai."

Mansi nodded absent-minded like she was thinking of something else. The waiter put big plates out and started serving them noodles, a couple of different chicken dishes, and some appetizers.

"Paintings." Mansi suddenly said.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" the waiter asked.

"Dutt sahab." she turned to him. "If I had an unlimited amount of money, I would buy paintings. Maybe even buy a museum. Buy a lot of art supplies and spend the whole day painting."

"Ah, that's the kind of answer I was looking for." he gently touched the back of her chair. "So you are an artist?"

"No. I wouldn't say that." she blushed. "I just like to draw and paint. Your favorite subject in college was history. Mine was arts and crafts. I always won a lot of prizes in college contests."

For the first time since that chocolate lava cake, Reena saw a spark of life on Mansi's face. And although initially she had thought Dutt was being too aggressive, she was impressed at how quickly he had put Mansi at ease.

"So why didn't you pursue it as a career?"

"Pursue art? Forget art, pursue a career?" Mansi smiled sadly. "I don't come from that kind of a family."

"I understand." Dutt sagely nodded. "My own father was very rigid. Anyway, who are your favorite artists? Impresionists? Dadaists? Cubists?"

Mansi felt uncomfortable. He was trying to impress her but she didn't really know any of these words.

"I...I never really learned about art. I don't know the terms and all that. I just know that when I see a painting I like, I like it. A few years ago my husband and I went to an exhibition of Hussain saab. Those were nice."

Dutt gauged her level of knowledge and course-corrected.

"After all, that is what art truly is. Something that speaks to your heart. That's why you can't spell heart without art."

Reena felt like laughing at that corny line, but Mansi seemed to like it.

"Very true."

Dutt nodded and started eating. So did Reena. The waiter had left by then. Mansi looked around the plate. There was no fork or spoon. Just a pair of fancy looking wooden chopsticks. She looked at her two companions. Both were eating with the chopsticks very expertly. The street Chinese food always came with cutlery. She had seen people use chopsticks on food shows on TV but never really had to use them.

"Aunty..." she awkwardly said.

"Yes, dear?" Reena pretended like she didn't know what was going to be the request. It had been Dutt idea, with the assumption that a small town middle class woman would not know how to use chopsticks.

"Is there any cutlery? I can't..." she pointed to the chopsticks.

"Oh god. Those idiot waiters. I told them to bring cutlery as well. Everything has to be told a dozen times." Reena got up and went to the phone.

Mansi again felt out of place as she saw Dutt effortlessly eating even rice with the chopsticks. He looked at her and smiled.

"It is very easy, Mansi." he said. "Here, do what I tell you."

Mansi picked up the chopsticks.

"Now, put one like this sliding from the base of your thumb to the middle of your ring finger. Yes. Like that. Now hold the other one like a pen between the tip of your thumb and index fingers. Yes. Now click them together. Yes. Very good. Now try to lift something."

Mansi followed the instructions exactly. But the sticks slid out of her grip. She tried again.

"Here, let me help you." Dutt said.

And before Mansi could say anything, was swiftly standing behind her, leaning down. he put his big hairy right hand on hers. She felt his breath against her ears as he said.

"Now...one stick like that. Another like that. Relax, it's very easy. You are an artist. This is easier than painting a circle."

Mansi felt an odd sensation as the old stranger's big rough fingers pressed gently on her smooth small ones. She wasn't exactly used to male touch from anyone other than her husband. And even with her husband, actual touching happened very infrequently. But she ignored the strange feeling and focused on the chopsticks.

"Yes, now...try to pick up that dumpling. Yes...perfect. See how easily it comes up? Easier than with a spoon. Now slowly...slowly...open your mouth."

Reena was watching as she was on the phone pretending to ask for cutlery. Again, she was impressed by Dutt's charm and skills. Here was a demure chaste middle class housewife being touched from so close by a man over twice her age. And yet there was nothing in the situation that would make her protest or take offense. It was all set up very naturally.

Mansi's hand, guided by Dutt's slowly put the dumpling in her mouth. Dutt looked at the nervous pretty face right next to his. And felt a surge of thrill and arousal.

"Mmmmmm..." Mansi said happily as she bit into a delicious prawns dumpling. Better than anything you got on the streets.

Looking at her effusive happy expression, Dutt had the strongest desire to make some kind of a move. Maybe try to kiss her. But he restrained himself. Reena had been right. With this one, things had to progress slowly. He could risk upsetting the balance.

So he took his hand off hers and slid back into his seat. Mansi felt a little relieved by that. Although she very naively did not doubt his intentions as anything but helpful, she was getting uncomfortable by the prolonged proximity to another man.

"You're right. This is very easy once you get the hang of it." she said with childlike glee as she rolled up a bunch of noodles and slurped them. And giggled.

Reena came back to see Mansi enjoying her food. Cutlery wasn't mentioned at all.

The lunch proceeded smoothly with a lot of conversations between the three of them. Reena talked frequently about Dutt's businesses and his contacts and his influence, which was always followed by Dutt acting very modest and self-effacing. He instead was more intent on talking to Mansi. And he was so charming and easy-going about it that the young housewife found herself not feeling as out of place as she was earlier. Dutt talked to her a lot about art, the different styles of painting, and so on. Mansi listened like a young student.

Dutt also peppered his art lecture with a few questions about Mansi's own life, her upbringing, her likes and dislikes. The more she talked, the more Dutt was able to get a complete picture of her personality and her psyche. She was a very simple, traditional, and conventional middle class housewife, but she was also hiding a deep sense of dissatisfaction with her life. Was that dissatisfaction merely financial and situational? Or was there something physical in it too? He would have to figure out how to gauge that without scaring her off. He began making a mental list of other small tricks and tactics he could use going forward.

When they finally got done with lunch, Reena pointed her to the bathroom to wash up. After stepping in and closing the door, Mansi again looked around her wide-eyed. The bathroom looked fancier than her living room. Not a spot of dirt or mold anywhere. A huge wall-length mirror. And the counter full of small artisanal soaps and different kinds of lotions and shampoos. Once again, Mansi felt like a child, just touching and examining all those things as if they were wondrous toys. Even the faucets were so ornate.

When she came out, Reena and Mansi were back on the couch having beer. She joined them.

"So did you enjoy lunch, Mansi?" Reena asked.

"Yes, it was delicious." Mansi smiled. "And I got to learn something new. Using chopsticks."

"Happy to be of help." Dutt said.

They all talked casually for a few more minutes. And then Dutt suddenly said,

"Oh, I just remembered." And he took out a small envelope from his inner pocket. "At a meeting with the Food Mart chain folks today, I got these complimentary gift cards. They don't have a branch in Delhi. Why don't you two take them?"

"No no, that's okay." Mansi politely declined.

"How much are they for?" Reena reached over and opened the envelope.

"I don't know. It doesn't say. It's just like a debit card with their logo. To be used only in their store. Maybe a couple of hundred rupees."

"Why not? Thank you." Reena took one and held out the other for Mansi.

"No, aunty, it's okay. You keep both."

"Don't be silly, Mansi." Reena pushed one into her hand. "Duttsahab got them for free anyway. Why let them go to waste? I know they have a big store in Borivali too."

Mansi nodded and put them in her purse. A couple of hundred rupees might help stretch her budget a little.

"Thank you, Duttsahab." she said politely.

"Don't mention it. Anyway ladies, I need to leave for a visit to one of my factories in Dahisar." Dutt got up.

"Oh okay." Reena said. "I have an appointment soon too."

Mansi nodded, hoping that with Dutt gone, she might get a few minutes alone with aunty to talk about job opportunities. But then Reena said,

"Duttsahab...you said Dahisar. Why don't you drop Mansi off at Borivali on the way?"

"Sure, happy to." Dutt nodded.

"Oh no, I don't want to delay you. I'll just take the train." Mansi was overwhelmed by all these favors he was doing her.

"What delay? It's my factory. I can reach there any time I want. And Borivali is just on the way."

Mansi demurred some more but there really was no way to refuse the offer. She couldn't explicitly say that she had hoped to talk to Reena aunty alone. And honestly, she was a little relieved. It was a heavy lunch and she was feeling a little lazy. It would be nice to get a ride all the way instead of struggling through the local.

So she said her goodbyes to Reena aunty who hugged her and kissed her on both cheeks before letting her go. She accompanied Dutt down the lift in silence and to the hotel lobby.

"Driver, bring the car to the front." he called and said.

A few minutes later, Mansi was sitting on a plush car seat, again feeling a mix of awe and wonderment. It was a big Mercedes limousine. Expensive leather interior, A/C on at full blast, with a smart looking driver in a crisp uniform. She was getting a first hand exposure to the lifestyle of the rich and famous.

"Thank you again, Duttsahab." she said as he got in from the other side.

"Please stop thanking me all the time, Mansi." he smiled. "So where exactly do you stay? Tell him the address."

Mansi told the driver her address in Borivali east and the driver nodded. She sat back and was tempted to thank Dutt again, but he was on the phone.

"Yes Pradeep...no no...can't do it for 12 million. Had to be fifteen. Yes, we can do something about the warranty..."

He seemed busy with his business. So she sat back. The car started moving. She looked out of the window and marveled at how different the streets of Mumbai looked from the inside of a plush limousine.

She stared at the buildings and cars whizzing past as she wondered, is this how people with money live? How would it feel? Do they get bored of it? She started thinking about a parallel universe where she hadn't been born to middle class conservative parents in a small town but to someone like Dutt. He seemed like such a nice and knowledgeable man. Very kind and gentle. Surely he didn't yell at his kids, force fit them into his ideas.

She noticed that Dutt had finished his phone calls.

"Can I offer you some water or a soft drink, Mansi?" he asked. "Your lips look a little dry."

"Oh no, there is no need to stop." Mansi said, without realizing that this meant he had been looking at her lips.

"We don't have to stop." Dutt smiled. "Push that blue button by your side."

Mansi was intrigued and pushed it. Immediately, a small refrigerated box slid out of the panel next to her. It had water, cola, and a couple of juices.

"Wow!!" she said, her eyes wide. A mini fridge in a car? She reached out and took a bottle of water.

"Press it again." he said, and then the fridge disappeared into the wall as if it was never there.

Taking a sip of water, Mansi licked her dry lips. Dutt watched her do that and felt a stirring in his loins. But he restrained himself.

"Duttsahab...what do your kids do?" she asked.

"My kids...oh they are a great bunch. The eldest, my first daughter, is a Vice President in my business. She is the one who runs most of our operations these days. And once I retire soon, she will take over completely. To be honest, she is going to take our business to great heights. She is married to a lawyer and they have two sons."

Mansi was a little surprised that despite having a son, it was a daughter that he was grooming as his successor.

"The second is my son. About your age. He is a sculptor. Not hit the big leagues yet, but I see a lot of promise. And my youngest is doing a masters course at Stanford University in the US. She is going to be a great writer." he proudly said.

Mansi smiled and nodded. If she had been born to him, maybe she could have become an artist too.

That's when Dutt's phone rang again.

"Excuse me. Duty calls again." he said and answered.

As the old man talked business on the phone, Mansi turned back to look outside the window. They were now on the western express highway. She thought about her own daughter, and how intelligent she was. What was in her future? Even with all his flaws and idiosyncrasies, the good thing about Amar was that he was not an old-fashioned guy when it came to that part. It was his idea to put her in an expensive high quality college. She was sure that with him together, they would be able to help her live up to her full potential. But that needed so much money these days.

"See that blue building over there with the glass facade?"

Mansi was so lost in her thoughts that she did not realize when Dutt finished his phone call and slid over right next to her. His face was right in front of hers and his finger was pointing out the window. His hips were touching hers.

"Hmmm?" she absent-mindedly said, looking where he pointed.

"I own two floors in that building, and that is like my Mumbai branch office."

"I see." she said.

"So you see, we are neighbors of sorts. You live in Borivali East. I have my offices in Borivali East." he said, still right next to her, a little too close.

"I guess so." she said, and squirmed a little, uncomfortably.

Dutt noticed her reaction and was a little disappointed. He had hoped for some sort of a signal that she was also attracted to him. But it wasn't there, He immediately slid back and she looked more relaxed.

Soon the driver turned off from the highway and went into the roads of the suburb. There was a short period of silence as Mansi sipped a bit more of the water. She didn't think that Duttsahab meant anything untoward by sliding that close to her. Maybe that was the norm among high society people. And he was such a nice charming man. When his face was right next to her, she had found herself thinking that it was a very handsome face. And that in his younger days, before he got a paunch, he must have been quite a good looking guy. He reminded her a bit of Rishi Kapoor.

"We are almost there, ma'am." the driver said from the front.

"Oh, yes, thanks." Mansi said as she recognized the familiar narrow roads of her neighborhood. Part of her felt a little sad that the ride was ending. It meant that her small adventure with high class society was ending.

"Mansi..." Dutt said holding his phone. "Why don't you give me your number? Like I told you, my son is a sculptor. Through him, I hear of a lot of exhibitions and events related to art in Mumbai. Next time there is one, I can call you. And then you can visit it with your husband and daughter."

The mention of her family was very purposeful. He had gauged her well enough to know that if he just asked her for her number saying the two of them should meet, she might refuse. But putting that request in the context of her main passions - art and her family - would make it easier.

"Oh sure...it is..."

Mansi gave him her cellphone number. He then gave her a missed call and saved his.

And then thanking him once again for the ride, the chopsticks lesson, and the gift card, she stepped out of the car.

As the fancy limo drove away, she realized that she was now back in the tepid confines of her regular middle class life.

Two days later, Mansi took Pinky to the mall near their house that had a branch of Food Mart. They walked the two kilometers there to save money on rickshaws. It was nearing the end of the month and finances were low. So whatever couple of hundred rupees were on that gift card Dutt gave her would be helpful.

"Mamma look!!" Pinky said as a toy helicopter flew over their head.

The little girl struggled free of her grip and ran after the helicopter. It landed right in front of a makeshift stall in a corner. It was laden with many different types of toy helicopter and a few young sales people with remote controllers in their hands were flying them around, enticing kids. There was a small crowd of kids and parents around the stall.

"Hello there." a young woman walked up to Pinky. "Do you want to fly it?"

"Pinky, let's go." Mansi said, annoyed. This is why she hated going to the mall. There were temptations for her demanding daughter around every corner.

"Mamma please...just a few minutes."

"It's a lot of fun, ma'am. I love it even as an adult. You should try it too." the sales girl made her practiced pitch.

Mansi knew there was no point even putting up a fight. She had been through such situations so many times. And it unfolded exactly as she knew it would. Pinky flew the helicopter around for a few minutes. Fell in love with it. And who wouldn't? Mansi herself was very impressed by how cool and fun it was. She would have loved to buy it for her precious daughter if she could.

But she had also read the board they had on the side with the prices. The cheapest model was 1000 rupees. She had just a little over 1500 left for the rest of the month after accounting for what she owed the kirana store. Even with that gift certificate of a couple of hundred rupees, she simply could not afford it.

And what followed was also very much expected. After the trial demo, the salesgirl started talking about the prices. Pinky started yelling and crying about how she absolutely wanted it. A lot of parents around them, with more money, were buying them. Pinky threw a tantrum. Mansi said no, felt embarrassed. A scene was created. And finally she managed to drag her sobbing and sulking daughter away.

"Stay with me!!" Mansi sternly told Pinky as she took a big cart and walked into Food Mart.

She had heard about this place. Some neighbors had told her that although it was very big and posh and nice, its prices were same as or even lower than their neighborhood kirana store if you bought big quantities. But the problem was, unlike the kirana store, these people did not give credit. With the kirana guy, she could keep buying things, one or two at a time as she needed them, and then pay off the bill when Amar's salary came. With the Food Mart, even with the competitive prices, payment had to be instant. She had read that most people who shopped there were upper middle class people who came with their cars, bought stuff in bulk for the month, and that was it.

As Mansi walked through the store and filled the cart with the essentials like flour, dal, milk, etc, she realized that the prices were indeed competitive. Maybe it was worth it to always come here and shop. It might take some planning with the finances but why not?

"You never buy me anything nice." Pinky sulked, still by her side.

"Don't be a brat. I bought you those shoes."

"I don't like those shoes anymore."

Big surprise, thought Mansi. Is there a more fickle mind of the earth than her daughter's, she wondered.

"Papa is nice. You are not nice." Pinky said.

This made Mansi's temper flare. Amar barely spent any time with their daughter, and was always the nice guy. She was the one bringing her up, taking care of everything, and she was not nice? She knew that this was just the sulking comment of a 7 year old. But it still pissed her off. She didn't say anything of course. But anyone watching the mother and daughter would have seen that both were wearing identical surly expressions.

Mansi had initially planned to just buy a few things of immediate need. If she bought too much, it would be too heavy to carry back on foot for two kilometers. But the more she saw the products and their prices, she realized that she could afford to buy enough for a couple of weeks. And the savings compared to the kirana guy would be enough to take a rickshaw home with the heavy bags. So she started buying the bigger packs for better savings, even buying a few things not on her list.

"That's 1226, ma'am." the guy at the counter said after scanning the last of her items while another guy put them in bags and in the cart.

As the register machine had kept racking up the prices, Mansi had gotten happier and happier. This was was least 10% cheaper than if she had bought all this at the kirana store.

"Okay. Here." she reached into her purse. "I have a gift card. Whatever is left, I will pay by cash."

"Sure, ma'am." the clerk took the card and swiped it as Mansi took cash out.

He looked at the screen for a few seconds. Then there was a whirring noise and a receipt was printed out.

"There you go, ma'am. Thank you for shopping at Food Mart." he held the card up to return it to her.

"Wait...don't I have to give you money?" she said, holding up the cash in her hand.

"No, ma'am. The gift card covered it all. It was worth 5,000 rupees. So here, it still has 3774 rupees on it."

Mansi took the card back and put it in her purse. Then with Pinky by her side, she started pushing the cart with all the bags. This had to be a mistake. Duttsahab had said just a couple of hundred rupees. Surely the Food Mart machine made a mistake. But who was she to complain? She quickly rushed out of the store holding Pinky's hand, fearing that any moment they might call her back.

She kept walking and looking back, wondering if someone was following them. But no one was. She stopped. That's when one of the toy helicopters flew past her again. Pinky looked at it sadly.

"So...I am not nice?" she asked her, staring at the helicopter.

"No." the girl sulked. Mansi smiled.

"See, what you don't realize about the Battle of the Bulge is, if only the American generals at that time had shown a little more initiative, and been more smart, then I tell you..." Amar was waxing eloquent on another of his favorite subject walking into the building compound when he was interrupted.

"Look at that!!" one of the three friends with him exclaimed.

Amar looked up. There was a small toy helicopter flying in front of him.

"Hands up, Papa!!" his daughter's voice said from some distance. He saw her standing with a crowd of the building kids. Smiling, he raised his hands. The helicopter flew away.

Along with the kids there were a few adults in that crowd watching his daughter maneuver the helicopter. Among them was Mansi. She saw him and smiled.

"What's all this?" he quietly asked her.

"Her newest toy." Mansi said happily and then looked at his friends. "You should all try it out. It is fun even for adults."

"Sure looks like it." one of them said staring at the helicopter.

They all stood around watching the helicopter fly all around. Finally Amar said,

"We will be upstairs. Can you make us some..."

"Yes sure." Mansi nodded and then said. "Pinky, just five more minutes. Time for homework."

"Okay, mamma." her daughter, for a change, did not argue with her. Just focused on her newest toy.

A while later, Pinky was in the bedroom, doing her homework. Amar and his friends had set up their intellectual conference as always. Mansi could hear that the topic for the night was the Battle of the Bulge. Same old facts, same old arguments that she had heard a dozen times. She was in the kitchen cooking.

Amar walked in alone with the empty tray. She put hot pakoras on the plate in it.

"Mansi...that helicopter...how much did it cost?" he asked after a few seconds.

"Nothing." she said.

"Nothing?" he said skeptically.

Mansi opened her mouth to tell him the whole story. About Reena aunty and the job offer and the kind old man Mr. Dutt and the gift certificate and everything. But it didn't seem like the right time. It would take too long. And knowing his weird sense of honor and pride, he might insist on returning it all. And it would make Pinky cry bloody mur*er. So she decided on a white lie.

"We were at the mall. They were displaying these toys and holding a lottery to give one away every hour. I just put Pinky's name in the lottery. And we won."

"Oh...ok." Amar believed it.

"Doesn't she look happy? And see how obediently she is doing her homework."

"Yes, of course. But it is materialistic behavior, Mansi." Amar's sanctimonious professorial tone came out.

"Why don't you try explaining your thoughts on materialism to Pinky?" she sarcastically said.

"I will. Some day." Amar said and walked away.

Again, Mansi felt annoyed at her husband. He liked to talk the talk on materialism and idealism and everything. But she was the one who had to live it out. And deal with a very demanding little girl. But Mansi decided not to feel surly about it. It was a rare happy day. She could still remember how Pinky's expression had turned from a scowl to one of delight when she finally told her that she'd buy her the helicopter. It had to be the cheapest model, of course. But even then, the little girl had been over the moon. And she had felt even happier when, after stepping out of the mall, Mansi had decided to take an A/C taxi home instead of a rickshaw. With the savings from the gift card, she could afford it.

As usual, Amar's history session continued past just snacks and tea and it rolled over into dinner. Pinky finished her homework, and tired from running around after the helicopter, fell asleep on the bed. Amar's friends finally left after dinner and the two of them headed to the bedroom.

Exhausted, Mansi laid down on the bed next to Pinky just the way she was, in a comfortable simple sari.

"Can you take Pinky to the couch?" Amar asked as he headed to the bathroom. "And why don't you change into a gown instead?"

"Oh...okay." Mansi said and got off the bed.
​