Falling into Place Page 4

  “I’m fine,” Sameen said, still giggling. “You’re joking, right? About the blind date?”

  “No, I’m very serious,” Tara replied, letting go of her arm. “You okay?”

  “Yes, thanks.” Sameen bent to pick up her books. Tara stooped to help. “So does your mother make a habit of sending you out to meet random guys, then?”

  “My mother is a law unto herself. If I started telling you all she does, we’re going to be here all night and then some.”

  “But a blind date.” Sameen shook her head. “Sounds so…”

  “American?”

  Sameen burst out laughing again. She would never have guessed Tara could have such a caustic sense of humour. “So do you always manage to get out of them?”

  “Nope,” Tara said. “I’ve been on at least half a dozen, each more horrifying than the other.”

  “Do tell.”

  “Well, let’s see.” Tara handed Sameen her books. “There was this guy who parked next to my car and scraped it when he opened his door. We had a raging fight right there before we even knew we were meeting each other. Needless to say, it was a very stilted dinner.”

  “I’d have loved to have been a fly on the wall when you discovered you were each other’s dates.”

  “Ha, that would have been entertaining. Then there was this other guy who gave very specific instructions to the server about what to put in his cocktail. He must have ordered about five of those drinks in the first half an hour, but he also kept excusing himself every ten minutes or so to go to the bathroom. I must say I really enjoyed that dinner because he spent most of that evening in there, leaving me to finish the delicious roast chicken he had decided we were going to share.”

  Sameen chuckled. “So not all bad experiences, then?”

  “Well, there was ultra-conservative, right-wing guy who spent the first ten minutes ranting about how drinking and smoking were wrecking our culture. He wanted me to quit my job, produce at least two sons, cover my head, and become a vegetarian.”

  Sameen’s mouth fell open. “How did you handle that?”

  “Oh, easy. I ordered a beer and he walked out.”

  “Wow. I’m really glad to come to your rescue. Who knows what you might have had to fight off today.”

  “I had a really good time today,” Tara said.

  “And what about any future lover boys? What will you do the next time your mother wants you to meet someone, hmm?”

  “Can’t you have another book launch?”

  Sameen placed her hand on Tara’s shoulder briefly. “I’ll see what I can do, my friend,” she said gravely.

  That made them giggle again.

  Soon, they turned into a lane and Tara stopped at a gate. “Here’s my stop. I didn’t realize we’d walked so fast.”

  “This was fun,” Sameen said. “Especially the walk. It’s strange, but I don’t feel so tired anymore.”

  “Yes, it was a nice night for a walk. I’m almost glad the car broke down.”

  “We’ve had some entertaining journeys, haven’t we?”

  “That we have,” said Tara, unlatching the gate. She looked back at Sameen and smiled. “Goodnight, then.”

  “Night.”

  Sameen walked home with a light step, humming an old Bollywood song about a girl out in the rain at night. The book launch was a distant memory.

  Tara:

  Hi, Sameen, this is Tara. I accidentally went home with one of your books last night. Should I drop it at your place sometime?

  -10:17 a.m.

  Sameen:

  Oh, so that’s where it went. I’m so sick of it, want to tell you to throw it away!! Just joking! Can I pick it up after work tonight?

  -10:20 a.m.

  Tara:

  Ok. Will call when I reach home.

  -10:21 a.m.

  Only when she was in her taxi on her way home that evening did Tara remember about the book. She called Sameen.

  “Oh, hi, Tara,” Sameen said breathlessly. “Are you home already?”

  “I’ve just left my office. It should take me about forty-five minutes to be home.”

  “Cool. I’ll leave here in about twenty or so.”

  “Listen, I should be passing your office in around twenty minutes to half an hour. Why don’t I give you a lift?”

  “That would be wonderful,” Sameen said. “If you’re sure it’s not out of your way.”

  “Not at all. See you then, at the same bus stop?”

  “Yep, see you.”

  Twenty-three minutes later, the car pulled up behind a large green bus. Sameen hopped down from the footpath and bent to the window. “May I please come in?” she asked, the picture of demureness.

  Tara laughed. “Let me think about it.”

  The driver, Prem—the same one from that day—was looking aghast. “Madam! It’s the same madam!”

  “It’s fine, Prem. She’s not carrying her gun today,” Tara said, still grinning as she unlocked the door. “Hop in.”

  “Hi,” Sameen said, settling in. “Thanks for the lift. Again.”

  “You’re welcome, again.” Tara handed her the book. “And here’s your precious autographed copy of Loveleen Bing’s memoirs.”

  “Thanks, though if I hear that damned woman’s name again, I’m going to kill myself.”

  “That bad?” asked Tara.

  “Worse. She’s made my life miserable, even almost made me miss my boyfriend’s thirtieth birthday party, as you well know. Let’s change the subject.”

  “So when do you usually leave work?” asked Tara.

  “Around this time,” said Sameen, “but it always takes me ages to find an autorickshaw or a taxi. I’m seriously thinking about getting myself a car. But then I’ll probably be worrying about parking.”

  “That’s true.” Tara waved at the bumper-to-bumper traffic around them. “People seem to be buying cars like they’re going out of fashion.” They’d been at the same traffic light for the past ten minutes.

  “So you don’t have a car either?”

  “My mother has one. She says I can borrow it whenever I want, but she always has these complicated plans and I rarely get to see the inside of it. I’m not complaining, though. I prefer being driven around by Prem.”

  Prem turned around and beamed at them. “You are my best customer, madam.”

  “That’s because you’re the only person in Delhi I know who understands the concept of lane driving, Prem.”

  “Maybe what I need then,” Sameen said, “is not a new car but Prem’s number.”

  “You’ll have to prise it out of my cold, dead fingers.”

  Tara liked Sameen’s laugh. The way she would shut her eyes, tilt her head back, and chuckle was quite charming. She was a bright woman who could seamlessly switch between being frivolous and sensible depending on what the situation demanded. Sameen could hold her own in any situation, and she definitely had a great sense of humour. Spending more time with her wouldn’t be too unpleasant.

  “I have a better idea,” Tara said. “Since I pass your office on my way home almost every day, why don’t we ride back together?”

  “Sounds like a great idea, but don’t journalists keep odd hours?”

  “Only when I’m involved in live coverage, but most days I leave office at the same time. We could figure out a way to coordinate.”

  “And it won’t be a detour for you?”

  “Not at all,” Tara said. “In fact, I’d be glad for the company part of the way.”

  “Also,” Sameen added hesitantly, “er, I do feel a bit guilty imposing on your office taxi.”

  “Ah, that.” Tara felt sheepish. “It’s not exactly an office taxi. I have a running tab that I settle every month. I just said it that day to get rid of you.”

  “Oh
!” Sameen struck a dramatic pose, hand on her chest. “I. Am. Hurt.” Then she laughed. “Fantastic. That means we can share the fare too.”

  As they cruised towards Malviya Nagar Market, Sameen sighed at a tandoori chicken stall, where plump, marinated chickens turned slowly and tantalizingly on a spit. “I could eat a horse.”

  Tara followed her gaze. “I’m always famished at this time too,” she admitted. Her mouth watered at the thought of sinking her teeth into a juicy chicken leg, maybe with some onions and mint chutney on the side.

  “Hey, want to grab a bite?” Sameen cut into her delicious daydream. “Let’s get off here and find something deep-fried to eat.”

  Tara turned towards her. “Are you serious?” What a fantastic idea. Why hadn’t she ever considered it?

  “Yes, absolutely! Driver-ji, please stop here.”

  And before she knew it, Tara found herself standing on the road, amidst the ear-splitting cacophony. This was why she avoided the market, especially in the evening. Cars and autorickshaws honked, people talked, laughed, argued, and temple bells pealed.

  “Come on,” Sameen yelled over the noise, and expertly dodged the traffic and the pedestrians as she snaked her way to the other side. Tara followed close behind.

  The market was teeming with people. It was difficult to navigate without getting run over, if not by cars, then by the bicycles, scooters, and motorbikes. Tara hated that no footpaths were left anymore—they were all occupied by roadside stalls, or rather, what had started out as stalls but were now semi-permanent structures. Even the big shops, with their generous floor space, spilled out on to the footpaths. She glanced at an elaborate display of colourful plastic buckets and a variety of household items. When she was younger, she would accidentally on purpose kick these over.

  They weaved their way between a row of scooters and motorcycles parked haphazardly in what was a pedestrians-only space, and stepped down into the main market through an opening in the low wall that separated the row of shops from the road. The smells from the eateries made Tara’s mouth water. The hot, syrupy aroma of freshly made jalebis mixing with the spicy scents of samosas and kachoris being fried, and golgappas being doled out.

  Her stomach growled as they passed a couple of young men selling momos from a table outside a grocer’s shop.

  “Hey, Sameen, momos…oh, chaat…or maybe bhelpuri…” Tara called out.

  But it was too noisy for Sameen to hear her. In any case, she was busy disappearing down one of the side alleys of the market, zigzagging between the crowd, and it was all Tara could do to keep up. Despite her mere three years in the area compared to the lifetime Tara had lived there, Sameen was impressively well acquainted with the local food outlets.

  Tara followed her into a narrow alley between a shop that sold baby clothes and one that had a variety of lurid stationery, and came out on the back lane of the main market. It was still crowded here, though not as much, and it was quieter. Sameen stopped in front of a tiny asbestos-roofed shack. It had a handful of chest-high tables around which customers stood, eating greasy snacks off paper plates.

  “What is this place?” Tara asked. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d explored the back lanes of the market. A bright green board with red-and-white lettering said “Sonu’s Snack Centre—world-famous samosa, first-class jalebi.”

  “You like samosas?” Sameen asked, her eyes glinting.

  “Who doesn’t? And jalebis too, before you ask.”

  “Lovely!” She waved to an elderly man who was scribbling on a pad behind the counter. “Sonu Uncle, namaste. Two samosas and one plate of jalebi. Quickly, please.”

  Sonu “Uncle” sprang into action. He had one of his boys clear a table by unceremoniously shooing a pair of lingering customers out, and before Tara knew it, two gigantic samosas and a mound of hot, juicy jalebis appeared before them.

  Tara picked up a large, glowing, orange jalebi, broke off a bit, and dropped the sticky sweet into her mouth. She closed her eyes. “Oh, divine. Sameen, you are a genius for finding this place.”

  “I know, right?” Sameen mumbled around the samosa she was devouring.

  “You’re so full of surprises,” Tara said.

  Sameen winked at her and said in an exaggerated accent. “You ain’t seen nothing yet, babe.”

  Tara smiled at the mischievous twinkle in her eye. Befriending Sameen had to have been one of the best decisions she had made in her life, she thought, as she attacked her samosa with gusto.

  Chapter 7

  “You drive a hard bargain, Tara, but I can’t do this anymore,” Sameen said, shaking her head.

  “Why not?” Tara demanded.

  “It’s not right.”

  Tara narrowed her eyes, but Sameen had turned away and was staring out of the window of Prem’s taxi that was taking them home. It had been a couple of weeks since they had started travelling together, with Tara picking Sameen up on the way as planned.

  “Come on. You have to give me a solid reason if you’re going to ditch our evening snacking expeditions.”

  “Rohan is starting to get a bit suspicious about why I’m never hungry when I come home these days. He’s a little miffed too, as he’s taking some Japanese cooking lessons online.”

  “Pfft, Rohan,” Tara said with a dismissive shake of her head. “You can’t be scared of him.”

  Sameen laughed. “I’m not scared of him. I just feel bad. And all that junk food. Come on, Tara, it can’t be good for us.”

  “That’s the trouble with you young women these days,” Tara grumbled, “letting their boyfriends control them.” She glanced at Sameen through the corner of her eye, checking to see she knew she was joking.

  “Haww.” Sameen clapped her hand to her mouth, doing a decent imitation of a disapproving Delhi-ite. “Below the belt.”

  Tara grinned and moved in for the kill. “I guess this means I don’t take you to the new snack joint that just opened in Saket.” She raised an eyebrow, a slight smile playing on her lips as she watched the range of expressions passing across Sameen’s face. “Maybe I’ll see if Mama wants to come with me.”

  “Ah, damn it.” Sameen thumped her fist into her hand. “That’s not fair. You can’t go there without me.”

  “But you just said you’d rather eat with Rohan,” said Tara with an innocent air. “And that junk food will kill us.”

  “Oh, pish-posh. A bit of deep-fried goodies keeps the heart ticking.”

  “And what if Rohan finds out?”

  “Screw Rohan. I’m coming with you and that’s that.”

  “Hmm, I don’t know. Maybe you have a point. Maybe we shouldn’t do this anymore—” Tara said, stroking her chin.

  “Tara Dixit, you stop this right now. Listen, I’ll make you a deal. You take me to the new snack place today and I’ll treat you to the best bhelpuri in all of Delhi. What do you say?”

  Tara looked at the roof of the taxi and scratched the side of her neck, pretending to think it over. Then she grinned at Sameen and extended her hand.

  “Deal.”

  Sameen, beaming, took Tara’s hand and shook it firmly. “Deal.”

  Waiting at the same bus stop where she’d taken shelter from the rain almost two months ago, Sameen pondered how quickly she and Tara had become friends. Some people just click, she realized. Otherwise, jumping into a stranger’s cab was more likely to land you an appointment with the cops than anything else.

  Prem’s white WagonR came to a stop by the footpath. Sameen opened the back door and got in.

  “Hi,” said Tara, handing her a plastic cup with a cover. “It’s a little cold, I’m sorry.”

  Sameen took a sniff and the smell of tomato soup filled her nose. “Mm,” she said after taking a sip. “It’s good.”

  “I told you.”

  The other thing that had been unexpected was
the way they’d bonded over food. She was kicked to see that her enthusiasm for food had rubbed off on Tara. “I never believed a vending-machine beverage could be so good.”

  “I know. So what’s the plan for this evening?”

  “Rohan’s downloaded the new episode of The Good Wife. Want to come watch it?”

  “Great,” Tara said. “I have to pick up the dry cleaning and drop it home first. But I’ll meet you at your place and I’ll also spring for snacks.”

  “Lovely.”

  Not for the first time, Sameen wondered why Tara had never offered that they go to her place. Mostly they’d find something to do at the market—they’d found a tea stall that, despite being a bit ramshackle, made decent ginger tea and a variety of hot snacks, and a few times they’d hung out at Sameen’s too, especially when Rohan had been out. She was starting to wonder if there was something wrong with Tara’s house. Perhaps it was exceedingly messy. Or maybe she had a weird hobby she didn’t want Sameen to find out about? Or perhaps it was something to do with her mother. Sameen shot a quick glance at her companion and was startled to find she was being watched.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Tara.

  “Wrong? Nothing. Why?” Sameen replied, flustered.

  “You suddenly got all serious.”

  Sameen smiled, a little guilty. “Some work-related thing that I remembered.”

  Tara nodded and looked away.

  “So how long have you lived at your house?” asked Sameen, suddenly insanely curious.

  “Oh, since childhood,” Tara said. “It belonged to my grandparents—my mother’s parents. They left it to my mother.”

  “Is it an old house, then?”

  “About forty, fifty years, I think. I’m not sure if that’s old by house standards.”

  “Probably not,” Sameen said. “But there must be lots of memories.”

  “Yeah, I guess. Though it’s changed a lot since my grandparents died.”

  “I like the older houses in the colony,” Sameen put in. “Like yours. Though I’ve only seen it from the outside. They have more character, I feel.”