Mere Samne Wali Khidki Mein (1 – The Khan-dan)

It is a bright, sunny morning in Delhi today. The beautiful smell of pollution lingers in the air (stubble burning in Punjab you see, the Delhi Chief Minister has reasoned on the news); pigeons flank the courtyards of Jama Masjid and flap their wings just as dramatically as mainstream Bollywood expects them to, and many a head can be seen leaning out of car windows on the roads to deliver choicest words of love and praise to the drivers in the cars ahead of them. To reinforce the stereotype further, a bunch of youngsters wearing khadi kurtas with tote bags slung across their shoulders linger self-importantly outside colleges that have been labeled decidedly anti-national, while a bunch of some others with a distinct hair color that South-Delhi has unanimously seemed to embrace hover around some of the more posh localities.

But that is not all there is to be seen in Delhi today. Our camera pans across the breathtaking expanse of the nation’s capital and then rapidly zooms in until it comes to focus on one particular residential society situated in Greater Kailash. Two blocks of apartments stand twelve storeys tall each, and are painted white and a pleasant shade of olive green. In the center there is a large green patch of soft grass surrounded by globed lights that shine prettily in the evening (and one of which invariably blow their fuse every second week – an issue that makes it repeatedly to almost all society meetings). On the terrace of Block-A is a swimming pool that had been quite heavily advertised by the builder at the time of apartment sales but has never seen a drop of water since its construction. It is now just a giant hole lined with fine marble that collects bird droppings on clear days and muddy rain water during monsoons. On the terrace of Block-B, is a society hall – the hub of monthly meetings, birthday celebrations, anniversary parties, and if you successfully bribe the security guard at the main gate with two hundred bucks for the keys – a perfect make-out spot for all of the society lovebirds.

This morning, a large truck laden with all sorts of household furniture wrapped in straw and jute cloth, and an innumerable number of cartons, comes to a halt near the main gate of this society. If you were to glance upwards from down below, you would spot several heads popping out from pretty much all of the windows. There are some whose curiosity cannot be satiated by the size of your standard window, and who have therefore stepped into the balconies to inspect the belongings of the new family moving in. If they lean any further upon the rails to get a good enough look, they might fall and meet their death on the same Samsung refrigerator they’re trying to estimate the correct size of. But at least it shall be a worthy death. And so they lean a little more.

“We have a bigger fridge.”

“But they have a bigger TV.”

“So many cartons for a family of four! How much money do they have?”

“Khan Ji is a lawyer, I hear. You know how these lawyers are. Crooks, all of them. One bail application drafting costs how much do you know?”

“How do you know?”

“That is not the point.”

“Mrs. Khan is a beautician, Shobha was telling me. Some fancy parlor she has in GK-II.”

“Oho, these beautician women are not to be trusted. Must have been a love marriage. All beautician women do love marriages with rich men.”

“We will tell them monthly maintenance is three thousand rupees instead of two thousand. With so much money they should pay a little extra.”

“And then Khan ji will sue you and do you know how much you have to pay in an extortion case?”

“No, but again, how do you know?”

“That is not the point.”

The Khans much like on-stage performers who aren’t aware that the curtains have already been lifted are entirely unaware of the half-dangling bodies leaning from balconies above their heads. They begin to dismount from the car, Rizwan and Roohi from the front seats, followed by their children Farah (aged twenty-five), and Zayn (aged eighteen). Then, with a lot of commotion, Zeenat Khan (aged eighty), is pulled out of the backseat and promptly delivered into a wheelchair. She sends out a few rapidly whispered prayers to the Almighty during this procedure and looks up towards the heavens, or rather tries to look at the heavens but settles for the curious faces gracing the balconies instead. This causes her communication with the Almighty to cease with immediate effect, and a swift and well practiced, “Kambakhat” to leave her lips before she hastily readjusts her pallu over her head.

“Baba we’re taking Dadda upstairs, it’s too sunny down here,” Farah calls out to her father. Rizwan, who is now too busy making sure that his beloved 65” 8k resolution TV set makes it safely out of the truck, nods quickly and returns his attention to what is clearly the more pressing problem.

“Easy! Arre why don’t you throw it on the concrete only when this is how you intend to take it out? Do one thing, throw it. Throw everything out.”

The guy being addressed with so much emotion is a little daft, and answers with a wide, stupid grin, thereby taking Rizwan Khan’s temper up a notch.

“Rizwan, take it easy,” his wife pats his shoulder with well-manicured fingers.

“Look at his face! He’s grinning, shameless fellow,” Rizwan fumes. “You know what? I can do this myself, I’ll just get up on the truck—”

“No you will not. Riz, Jaan, the neighbors are watching. Calm yourself,” his wife whispers urgently.

Upstairs, the verdict has already been pronounced.

“Bhaisahab has a temper. Must be because he is a lawyer. All lawyers have a nasty temper.”

“I feel sorry for his wife. I wonder why she was forced to love-marry him.”

“The children are very pretty but the son is more handsome. Wait, is that a cat the daughter is carrying?”

“But they are not too fair. Except Bhabi ji, she is too much fair.”

“That is because she is a beautician. She has to be fair – job hazard.”

“I don’t like cats.”

“But Khan ji is dark. So children are the shade in between. That is exactly how genetics works.”

“Tch tch. I wonder why she was forced to love-marry him.”

“Who doesn’t like cats?

“They are very hostile. And when you kill one that is a pet, you get a five-year jail term.”

“……….How do you know these things?”

 

And at this point, we shall let the neighbors satisfy their curiosity to their heart’s content and shortly turn our attention towards the Khans’ immediate neighbors. They haven’t yet been spotted leaning out of any of the balconies despite being, perhaps, the biggest stakeholders in the newest disruption.

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A/N- Thank you for all your comments on the last note. I hear you, and yes maybe one day I will have sufficiently recovered from my dental misadventures to get back to PI. Until then, thank you for being here, and hope the new lot doesn’t disappoint.