10-01-2019, 04:43 PM
"Don't mention it." Dutt smiled and shook his head.
"Some champagne, Mansi?" Reena asked reached for the bottle.
"No thank you. I don't drink." she shook her head.
"You don't drink alcohol. This is champagne." Reena laughed. "I mean sure, it is also alcohol But it is very mild."
"But still..." Mansi protested.
"But still nothing. Just have a little. besides, they usually serve champagne at such exhibitions too. If you refuse it there, it will look rude."
"Oh, is it?"
"Yes. Just have a little bit. I insist." Reena poured half a measure into a stylish looking flute and held it towards Mansi.
The young middle class housewife, again feeling a little intimidate and out of place, took it. She didn't want to be rude to Reena aunty, who had been so nice to her. And she had heard that champagne is indeed a mild alcohol, mainly used to sip at celebratory or fancy occasions. She took a sip of the cold fizzy drink and grimaced a little.
"How do you like it?" Reena asked.
"It's...different. Tastes a bit like...sprite." Mansi said. It was a bit more carbinated than she expected. And the taste was a little bitter. She didn't enjoy it much, but did not want to seem like a bumpkin.
Reena and Dutt started laughing at the comparison. Until then, Dut had been checking email on his phone, listening to everything.
"Sprite. That's a good way to describe it." Dutt said.
"Have a few more sips and you will get used to it." Reena said.
As the car zoomed south on the western express highway towards Bandra, Mansi took a few more sips of the foreign drink. Having brought up in a conservative small town household, she had never even thought about tasting alcohol. It had been hammered into her that it was a vile drink that makes people act really crazy. She had seen many drunks on the streets of Meerut and knew it had to be true. And drinking for a woman was almost unthinkable.
But she was in the company of high society people now. So to fit in, what's the harm in having a few sips, she thought. Mansi knew so little about the effects of alcohol, that she expected that she would suddenly started feeling unbalanced and confused like a drunkard. So she was surprised that even after a few sips, there was no major effect on her, except just a pleasant sensation in her mind.
"Some more?" Duttsahab politely asked.
"Thank you." Mansi held out the flute.
By the time they reached the sea-facing gallery on Carter Road, Mansi had kept pace with her two companions, finishing three flutes of champagne. As the driver dropped them off and she got out of the car, Mansi felt a mild but funny sensation in her head. She wasn't imbalance, nor was she slurring. But there was something different. She did not know the term, but the first time drinker was what you might call "buzzed".
-----
Mansi walked into the posh gallery feeling just mildly light-headed, even though her two companions were perfectly sober. Obviously, this being the first taste of alcohol in her life, she had a much lower tolerance. But Reena had been careful not to give her too much.
"May I accompany you inside, dear lady?" Dutt held out his elbow in a ceremonious way.
Mansi smiled and put her arm through his. As the two of them walked into the big fancy art gallery followed by Reena, a few photographers milling around ran over and started snapping a few pictures. Mansi was surprised by all the attention. She assumed it was because Dutt was a big shot industrialist. But in reality, the photographers had been drawn to her. Dressed in another of her very few fancy saris, and with her hair combed straight and let loose, she looked quite attractive. Although none of the photographers obviously recognized her, they all thought a picture of a pretty lady with a stylish but paunchy old man would make a great page 3 photo.
"So glad you could make it, Mr. Dutt." a distinguished looking older gentleman who was the owner of the gallery said.
"Happy to be here." Dutt smiled. "These are my friends, Mrs. Mansi and Mrs. Reena."
Mansi was just staring at the picture closest to her. It was a big 12 ft x 9 ft abstract painting hung on a spotless white wall. And the price tag said Rs 26,00,000. She almost fainted that she was so close to a picture that cost more than her husband would earn in two decades. But once she looked past the price, she found herself strangely enamored by the painting. It was a lot of strange blobs and strokes and uneven shapes. But she could see why it commanded such a high price. There was something magnetically fascinating about it.
"Mansi!" Reena nudged her with an elbow. Everyone was waiting for her to greet the owner back.
"Oh hello, how do you do?" she politely said.
"Mansi here is an aspiring artist herself." Dutt said, and she blushed.
"That is fantastic. We are always looking to discover new talent." the owner smiled and fished out a card. "Feel free to send me a sample any time."
"Sample...thank you." Mansi just dumbly stared at the card and said. She had done some drawings on chart paper many years ago. It had been considered nice by the untrained population of her small social circle in Meerut. And here was the owner of a super fancy gallery giving her his card.
The owner smiled knowingly and then snapped his fingers. A waitress appeared carrying a tray of champagne. Mansi looked at her. And yet again, wondered how the wait staff in the high society world is always so impeccably dressed. Dutt and Reena picked up a glass each. Mansi was now starting to feel the mild but real effects of the champagne she had in the car. She didn't want to over indulge. But she remembered what Reena aunty said in the car about not being rude, so she picked up a glass. She told herself she would just hold it, not really have any.
But fifteen minutes later, she felt an empty glass being taken from her hand and replaced with a full one. Dutt had been talking about all the gorgeous paintings in that brightly lit gallery accompanying the two ladies through the exhibition. As was his forte, he was talking nineteen to the dozen sounding very knowledgeable about everything, but any real expert of art would have realized that his expertise didn't go very deep and was actually very cliched and stilted. But to Mansi, who had never been formally educated in the ways of art and just had an amateur passion in it, everything sounded very profound.
The next hour or so passed with Mansi walking through the exhibition with her companions, being lectured on art. Throughout that hour, Dutt had occasionally touched Mansi on her shoulder or brushed her arm, while guiding her from one place to another. She noticed it and maybe because of the alcohol in her system, felt a small thrill at the unfamiliar touch. But did her best to put it all out of her mind. He is just a nice old man, she told herself. Stop being silly. Little did she know that all the subtle touches and brushes were very carefully planned and calibrated by Dutt.
About halfway through the exhibition just as they walked up to a new painting, Dutt stopped, and looked across the hall.
"Oh...would you ladies mind it terribly if I left you alone for a little while?" he said. "I see an old business associate that I need to discuss a new deal with."
"Sure." Reena said. Until now she had been a silent spectator much like Mansi.
"Sure." Mansi said.
"It won't take more than 15-20 minutes. You ladies keep looking and I will join you soon." Dutt said, and gently stroked both their arms before walking away.
Reena and Mansi watched him walk away and then looked at the painting.
"So what do you think this is?" Mansi said, trying to remember everything Dutt had said about shape and form and strokes and subtext.
Reena stared carefully at the painting.
"A big question mark on a fried egg?" Reena said. Both of them started giggling. "Sorry Mansi, but I am not really artistically inclined like you or Dutsahab. To me, most of these paintings look lie something a kindergarten child would make."
"I...like them." Mansi said. And Reena realized that she was getting more and more under Dutt's spell, although she probably didn't realize it herself. So this was the right time.
"Mansi...remember we spoke about a job for you?"
"Oh yes. In fact...I was going to bring it up myself." Mansi said. And then, more than a little buzzed by the champagne, started talking with a slight slur. "Amar has a great job as a professor and his salary is not bad. But it falls short, you know. Some extra money always helps. For helicopters and ice cream. So why not a job? He thinks I won't...or I can't...but he is also right. I never got any great education. Very basic. Like B.A. basic. And it was like...you know...it didn't matter if I could draw a perfect circle with just a brush...but more about whether I can roll a perfect roti. You know what I mean?"
Reena had trouble following that rambling sentence in entirety, especially the part about helicopters and ice cream but she got the general gist. She nodded sympathetically.
"Yeah...so...with Pinky...I don't care about her rotis. I mean...I do care about the rotis she eats. I mean...I don't care about the rotis she makes. In fact she shouldn't even make rotis. She should go to best colleges. And become like...Barkha Dutt or even Edmund Hillary. Why can't she be like Edmund Hillary?"
"You mean climb Everest??" Reena asked, a little confused.
"Noooo...become the first woman president of America." Mansi said.
"Oh of course." Reena realized what she meant but didn't say anything. gently, she took the half empty glass of champagne from Mansi's hand. She did not want the first time drinker to get so drunk that she would just fall asleep.
"So yes...I want to get a job. To save money for Pinky's college. We started a bank account for her college fees but I haven't been able to add anything much to it. If I start working and start adding money to it, she can go anywhere. Go to IIT...IIM...maybe even Stambford."
"Stanford."
"Yes, Stanford." Mansi said. And then stared at the painting. "I think I also see the fried eggs."
"Come with me, Mansi. Let's sit for a while."
Reena led the young housewife to a leather bench by the side. She had hoped the champagne would relax Mansi, but it had maybe been a little too much. She signaled a waitress over and picked up a glass of orange juice and handed it to Mansi who started drinking it.
Mansi was too inexperienced with drinking to realize that she was slightly drunk. She did realize that something was off. But she trusted Reena so implicitly that she still thought champagne is too mild to really be alcohol. They sat quietly for a couple of minutes as Mansi sipped the juice. Then a waiter came by with some finger food and Reena gave some to Mansi and had some herself.
"Some champagne, Mansi?" Reena asked reached for the bottle.
"No thank you. I don't drink." she shook her head.
"You don't drink alcohol. This is champagne." Reena laughed. "I mean sure, it is also alcohol But it is very mild."
"But still..." Mansi protested.
"But still nothing. Just have a little. besides, they usually serve champagne at such exhibitions too. If you refuse it there, it will look rude."
"Oh, is it?"
"Yes. Just have a little bit. I insist." Reena poured half a measure into a stylish looking flute and held it towards Mansi.
The young middle class housewife, again feeling a little intimidate and out of place, took it. She didn't want to be rude to Reena aunty, who had been so nice to her. And she had heard that champagne is indeed a mild alcohol, mainly used to sip at celebratory or fancy occasions. She took a sip of the cold fizzy drink and grimaced a little.
"How do you like it?" Reena asked.
"It's...different. Tastes a bit like...sprite." Mansi said. It was a bit more carbinated than she expected. And the taste was a little bitter. She didn't enjoy it much, but did not want to seem like a bumpkin.
Reena and Dutt started laughing at the comparison. Until then, Dut had been checking email on his phone, listening to everything.
"Sprite. That's a good way to describe it." Dutt said.
"Have a few more sips and you will get used to it." Reena said.
As the car zoomed south on the western express highway towards Bandra, Mansi took a few more sips of the foreign drink. Having brought up in a conservative small town household, she had never even thought about tasting alcohol. It had been hammered into her that it was a vile drink that makes people act really crazy. She had seen many drunks on the streets of Meerut and knew it had to be true. And drinking for a woman was almost unthinkable.
But she was in the company of high society people now. So to fit in, what's the harm in having a few sips, she thought. Mansi knew so little about the effects of alcohol, that she expected that she would suddenly started feeling unbalanced and confused like a drunkard. So she was surprised that even after a few sips, there was no major effect on her, except just a pleasant sensation in her mind.
"Some more?" Duttsahab politely asked.
"Thank you." Mansi held out the flute.
By the time they reached the sea-facing gallery on Carter Road, Mansi had kept pace with her two companions, finishing three flutes of champagne. As the driver dropped them off and she got out of the car, Mansi felt a mild but funny sensation in her head. She wasn't imbalance, nor was she slurring. But there was something different. She did not know the term, but the first time drinker was what you might call "buzzed".
-----
Mansi walked into the posh gallery feeling just mildly light-headed, even though her two companions were perfectly sober. Obviously, this being the first taste of alcohol in her life, she had a much lower tolerance. But Reena had been careful not to give her too much.
"May I accompany you inside, dear lady?" Dutt held out his elbow in a ceremonious way.
Mansi smiled and put her arm through his. As the two of them walked into the big fancy art gallery followed by Reena, a few photographers milling around ran over and started snapping a few pictures. Mansi was surprised by all the attention. She assumed it was because Dutt was a big shot industrialist. But in reality, the photographers had been drawn to her. Dressed in another of her very few fancy saris, and with her hair combed straight and let loose, she looked quite attractive. Although none of the photographers obviously recognized her, they all thought a picture of a pretty lady with a stylish but paunchy old man would make a great page 3 photo.
"So glad you could make it, Mr. Dutt." a distinguished looking older gentleman who was the owner of the gallery said.
"Happy to be here." Dutt smiled. "These are my friends, Mrs. Mansi and Mrs. Reena."
Mansi was just staring at the picture closest to her. It was a big 12 ft x 9 ft abstract painting hung on a spotless white wall. And the price tag said Rs 26,00,000. She almost fainted that she was so close to a picture that cost more than her husband would earn in two decades. But once she looked past the price, she found herself strangely enamored by the painting. It was a lot of strange blobs and strokes and uneven shapes. But she could see why it commanded such a high price. There was something magnetically fascinating about it.
"Mansi!" Reena nudged her with an elbow. Everyone was waiting for her to greet the owner back.
"Oh hello, how do you do?" she politely said.
"Mansi here is an aspiring artist herself." Dutt said, and she blushed.
"That is fantastic. We are always looking to discover new talent." the owner smiled and fished out a card. "Feel free to send me a sample any time."
"Sample...thank you." Mansi just dumbly stared at the card and said. She had done some drawings on chart paper many years ago. It had been considered nice by the untrained population of her small social circle in Meerut. And here was the owner of a super fancy gallery giving her his card.
The owner smiled knowingly and then snapped his fingers. A waitress appeared carrying a tray of champagne. Mansi looked at her. And yet again, wondered how the wait staff in the high society world is always so impeccably dressed. Dutt and Reena picked up a glass each. Mansi was now starting to feel the mild but real effects of the champagne she had in the car. She didn't want to over indulge. But she remembered what Reena aunty said in the car about not being rude, so she picked up a glass. She told herself she would just hold it, not really have any.
But fifteen minutes later, she felt an empty glass being taken from her hand and replaced with a full one. Dutt had been talking about all the gorgeous paintings in that brightly lit gallery accompanying the two ladies through the exhibition. As was his forte, he was talking nineteen to the dozen sounding very knowledgeable about everything, but any real expert of art would have realized that his expertise didn't go very deep and was actually very cliched and stilted. But to Mansi, who had never been formally educated in the ways of art and just had an amateur passion in it, everything sounded very profound.
The next hour or so passed with Mansi walking through the exhibition with her companions, being lectured on art. Throughout that hour, Dutt had occasionally touched Mansi on her shoulder or brushed her arm, while guiding her from one place to another. She noticed it and maybe because of the alcohol in her system, felt a small thrill at the unfamiliar touch. But did her best to put it all out of her mind. He is just a nice old man, she told herself. Stop being silly. Little did she know that all the subtle touches and brushes were very carefully planned and calibrated by Dutt.
About halfway through the exhibition just as they walked up to a new painting, Dutt stopped, and looked across the hall.
"Oh...would you ladies mind it terribly if I left you alone for a little while?" he said. "I see an old business associate that I need to discuss a new deal with."
"Sure." Reena said. Until now she had been a silent spectator much like Mansi.
"Sure." Mansi said.
"It won't take more than 15-20 minutes. You ladies keep looking and I will join you soon." Dutt said, and gently stroked both their arms before walking away.
Reena and Mansi watched him walk away and then looked at the painting.
"So what do you think this is?" Mansi said, trying to remember everything Dutt had said about shape and form and strokes and subtext.
Reena stared carefully at the painting.
"A big question mark on a fried egg?" Reena said. Both of them started giggling. "Sorry Mansi, but I am not really artistically inclined like you or Dutsahab. To me, most of these paintings look lie something a kindergarten child would make."
"I...like them." Mansi said. And Reena realized that she was getting more and more under Dutt's spell, although she probably didn't realize it herself. So this was the right time.
"Mansi...remember we spoke about a job for you?"
"Oh yes. In fact...I was going to bring it up myself." Mansi said. And then, more than a little buzzed by the champagne, started talking with a slight slur. "Amar has a great job as a professor and his salary is not bad. But it falls short, you know. Some extra money always helps. For helicopters and ice cream. So why not a job? He thinks I won't...or I can't...but he is also right. I never got any great education. Very basic. Like B.A. basic. And it was like...you know...it didn't matter if I could draw a perfect circle with just a brush...but more about whether I can roll a perfect roti. You know what I mean?"
Reena had trouble following that rambling sentence in entirety, especially the part about helicopters and ice cream but she got the general gist. She nodded sympathetically.
"Yeah...so...with Pinky...I don't care about her rotis. I mean...I do care about the rotis she eats. I mean...I don't care about the rotis she makes. In fact she shouldn't even make rotis. She should go to best colleges. And become like...Barkha Dutt or even Edmund Hillary. Why can't she be like Edmund Hillary?"
"You mean climb Everest??" Reena asked, a little confused.
"Noooo...become the first woman president of America." Mansi said.
"Oh of course." Reena realized what she meant but didn't say anything. gently, she took the half empty glass of champagne from Mansi's hand. She did not want the first time drinker to get so drunk that she would just fall asleep.
"So yes...I want to get a job. To save money for Pinky's college. We started a bank account for her college fees but I haven't been able to add anything much to it. If I start working and start adding money to it, she can go anywhere. Go to IIT...IIM...maybe even Stambford."
"Stanford."
"Yes, Stanford." Mansi said. And then stared at the painting. "I think I also see the fried eggs."
"Come with me, Mansi. Let's sit for a while."
Reena led the young housewife to a leather bench by the side. She had hoped the champagne would relax Mansi, but it had maybe been a little too much. She signaled a waitress over and picked up a glass of orange juice and handed it to Mansi who started drinking it.
Mansi was too inexperienced with drinking to realize that she was slightly drunk. She did realize that something was off. But she trusted Reena so implicitly that she still thought champagne is too mild to really be alcohol. They sat quietly for a couple of minutes as Mansi sipped the juice. Then a waiter came by with some finger food and Reena gave some to Mansi and had some herself.
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