09-02-2023, 09:22 AM
Mansi got back to her regular life after her short introduction to high class living with Reena aunty and Duttsahab. She considered calling aunty to meet up again and talk about the job. But then she decided to give it a few days. She worried that if she contacted her again so soon, it might seem like she was again trying to mooch off a free expensive meal. Besides, thanks to that gift card, she was okay with finances for a while. There was enough money left on it to buy groceries and other supplies for almost two months if she stretched it. Which meant that the money from Amar's salary could be used for other purposes.
The next few weeks were great for Pinky. Whenever she went out with her mother and made a random demand, most of the times, it was fulfilled. Be it ice cream or pastries or even small toys being sold here or there. She just had to ask and she would receive, as long as it was within reason.
"Pinky is getting more and more toys these days." Amar noted one morning as he saw his daughter playing with a few doll.
"It makes her happy." Mansi shrugged.
"But...can we afford all this?"
"Do you want me to give you a full accounting of all the money?" Mansi said in a miffed voice.
"Of course not. Why are you getting upset?"
"I have been running the household for eight years now. I know better than you what we can and cannot afford."
"It's not just about being able to afford it." Amar changed the topic. "I have said before that I don't want to instill materialistic values in our child."
Mansi seethed in silence as she did her work. It was so easy for him to be so high and mighty from his ivory tower while leaving her to face the practical implications of his supposed values.
"So...how is your job search going?" Amar asked. She noted a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
"I haven't gotten around to it yet." she said. She considered telling him about Reena aunty but then decided to wait until the job was confirmed.
"Hmmm." he said and smiled. She could sense that to him it was a big joke. He did not think his homely barely qualified wife could ever get a job.
This made her even more resolved to call Reena aunty soon. She knew that Amar didn't take the idea seriously. But it was important to her. Making some money wouldn't just make her household life easier, it would be useful for Pinky's future too. She had been thinking about it since Dutt spoke about his kids. To give Pinky a bright future, they would need a decent amount of money. A few years ago they had started a dedicated savings account for her college fund. But given how tight money was, it did not have more than a couple of thousand. If she got even a moderately paying job, they could save at least a couple of lakhs until Pinky grew up.
As it happened, Reena was the one who called her the next morning.
"Mansi, you have become a stranger. Too busy for your old friend?" she mock scolded.
"No aunty, I just didn't want to disturb you."
"You can never disturb me, sweetheart. Listen, are you free today?"
"Yes." Mansi eagerly said.
"I have a surprise for you."
"A surprise? What surprise?"
"If I tell you that, it won't be a surprise now, will it? Be ready in an hour. I will pick you up from that main road near your house. The corner with the ATM. And dress nicely."
Mansi hung up and wondered if she had ever given aunty her address. How did she know about the main road and the ATM? She guessed she must have and just forgotten about it. Mansi picked out another of her nice saris and got ready. She wondered what the surprise was.
And hour later she was waiting in the heat where Reena had told her to when a gleaming limousine pulled up to her. She wondered if it was Duttsahab again, but it was different from the one she had been in last time.
The chauffer, smartly dressed, got out and stylishly opened the back door.
"Mansi! Hi!!" Reena aunty squealed from inside and waved.
Mansi saw her and got into the air conditioned limousine. And right next to her, she found Dutt, again dressed in a stylish suit.
"How are you, Mansi?"
"Namaste, Duttsahab. Namaste, aunty." Mansi said as her shapely butt sank into the soft seat of the car. She was a little confused to see the old man here again. But she did not mind much. She had taken quite a liking to him. She tried not to think about how his face had flashed in front of her eyes during sex, and blushed a little.
"Mansi, you seem confused. Let me explain your surprise. Or rather, let Duttsahab explain." Reena said, holding a champagne flute in her hand and sipping from it. There was a champagne bottle in an ice bucket on a shelf next to her.
"It's nothing, really." Dutt said, also with champagne in his hand. "I told you my son is a sculptor. When I told him I was coming to Bombay again, he told me about this exhibition at a great art gallery in Bandra. And I remembered your interest in art. So I thought you might enjoy coming to it with Reena and me."
"Oh, thank you. That was very thoughtful of you." Mansi beamed. A high end art exhibition in posh Bandra did sound like something she would enjoy.
"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".
-----
The next few weeks were great for Pinky. Whenever she went out with her mother and made a random demand, most of the times, it was fulfilled. Be it ice cream or pastries or even small toys being sold here or there. She just had to ask and she would receive, as long as it was within reason.
"Pinky is getting more and more toys these days." Amar noted one morning as he saw his daughter playing with a few doll.
"It makes her happy." Mansi shrugged.
"But...can we afford all this?"
"Do you want me to give you a full accounting of all the money?" Mansi said in a miffed voice.
"Of course not. Why are you getting upset?"
"I have been running the household for eight years now. I know better than you what we can and cannot afford."
"It's not just about being able to afford it." Amar changed the topic. "I have said before that I don't want to instill materialistic values in our child."
Mansi seethed in silence as she did her work. It was so easy for him to be so high and mighty from his ivory tower while leaving her to face the practical implications of his supposed values.
"So...how is your job search going?" Amar asked. She noted a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
"I haven't gotten around to it yet." she said. She considered telling him about Reena aunty but then decided to wait until the job was confirmed.
"Hmmm." he said and smiled. She could sense that to him it was a big joke. He did not think his homely barely qualified wife could ever get a job.
This made her even more resolved to call Reena aunty soon. She knew that Amar didn't take the idea seriously. But it was important to her. Making some money wouldn't just make her household life easier, it would be useful for Pinky's future too. She had been thinking about it since Dutt spoke about his kids. To give Pinky a bright future, they would need a decent amount of money. A few years ago they had started a dedicated savings account for her college fund. But given how tight money was, it did not have more than a couple of thousand. If she got even a moderately paying job, they could save at least a couple of lakhs until Pinky grew up.
As it happened, Reena was the one who called her the next morning.
"Mansi, you have become a stranger. Too busy for your old friend?" she mock scolded.
"No aunty, I just didn't want to disturb you."
"You can never disturb me, sweetheart. Listen, are you free today?"
"Yes." Mansi eagerly said.
"I have a surprise for you."
"A surprise? What surprise?"
"If I tell you that, it won't be a surprise now, will it? Be ready in an hour. I will pick you up from that main road near your house. The corner with the ATM. And dress nicely."
Mansi hung up and wondered if she had ever given aunty her address. How did she know about the main road and the ATM? She guessed she must have and just forgotten about it. Mansi picked out another of her nice saris and got ready. She wondered what the surprise was.
And hour later she was waiting in the heat where Reena had told her to when a gleaming limousine pulled up to her. She wondered if it was Duttsahab again, but it was different from the one she had been in last time.
The chauffer, smartly dressed, got out and stylishly opened the back door.
"Mansi! Hi!!" Reena aunty squealed from inside and waved.
Mansi saw her and got into the air conditioned limousine. And right next to her, she found Dutt, again dressed in a stylish suit.
"How are you, Mansi?"
"Namaste, Duttsahab. Namaste, aunty." Mansi said as her shapely butt sank into the soft seat of the car. She was a little confused to see the old man here again. But she did not mind much. She had taken quite a liking to him. She tried not to think about how his face had flashed in front of her eyes during sex, and blushed a little.
"Mansi, you seem confused. Let me explain your surprise. Or rather, let Duttsahab explain." Reena said, holding a champagne flute in her hand and sipping from it. There was a champagne bottle in an ice bucket on a shelf next to her.
"It's nothing, really." Dutt said, also with champagne in his hand. "I told you my son is a sculptor. When I told him I was coming to Bombay again, he told me about this exhibition at a great art gallery in Bandra. And I remembered your interest in art. So I thought you might enjoy coming to it with Reena and me."
"Oh, thank you. That was very thoughtful of you." Mansi beamed. A high end art exhibition in posh Bandra did sound like something she would enjoy.
"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".
-----
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