The Economist Woman

It was the month of July 2016. Eastern Nest, our housing society in East Delhi, welcomed a new resident. She hired one three-bedroom apartment on the fourth floor of our C block. I lived two floors above in the same block.

The tenant was a lady, a non-resident Indian holding an American passport. She was residing alone. In our society, like in any other housing society in Delhi, renting an apartment to a single woman was very unusual but in her case, there were two compelling reasons.

The first one was of course Professor Aditya Roy who owned an apartment in our society and had been living there for many years. He was sixty plus and an eminent professor of the Delhi School of Economics. It was on his recommendation the society management let her in and the flat she hired was owned by his brother-in-law who lived in Bangalore.

The second reason was not less important. The lady herself was a professor of economics in a well-known American university.

Her name was Chaitali, Professor Chaitali Sanyal, to be more complete. She joined the Delhi School of Economics as a visiting faculty. A professor in economics and that too from the US was viewed with great respect, singleness of her living status notwithstanding.

My wife Kavita was on the executive committee which managed the affairs of our society. She had the privilege to examine the identification documents provided by Chaitali along with a copy of the residential agreement she had executed. I came to know her age was forty-six and so she was four years my junior.

It was an understatement to call Chaitali just pretty. She was of average height with wheatish complexion, thick black flowing hair on her shoulders, elegant pair of eyes covered with glasses, sensuous full upper lip, and chirping voice. Whenever she was wearing even a simple sari with a sleeveless blouse, her well-proportioned arm, silk-smooth armpit, and curvy thin waist, though not as thin as perhaps that had been when she was in the twenties, would make her head turner. With such looks and intellectual demeanor, she did acquire many secret admirers in our society. 

Chaitali as the residents discovered, especially the men, was not overly friendly. While on morning walks in the central lawn, she faced many curious men and women accosting her to befriend, but her response though polite, yet was never encouraging.

She was a great hit however with the younger lot, both boys and girls, who were in their late teens or early twenties. The children of our society, well-groomed by their educated parents, were attentive to studies and many of them were aspiring to study in the US. They got a ready and ever-willing adviser to answer and clarify their endless queries and doubts. She even started tutoring a couple of boys, studying economics in a reputed north campus college without charging any fees. My son Vivek was very respectful to her. He was studying physics in a reputed north campus college and had entered the second year. The course structure permitted him to choose one additional subject of his discretion and he chose economics. He sometimes went to her flat to discuss some topics in microeconomics and was satisfied with the way she explained the topics with conceptual perspicuity. Vivek liked two more things about her and those were the formidable collection of her books displayed neatly on the large bookshelf in her living room and the aromatic cappuccino she offered him sometimes.

She was a great animal lover rather I would say, cat lover. We had a few stray cats in our society. Stray, yet they never starved thanks to the generosity of the residents who fed them whatever they could, out of discards from their kitchens. The cats became plump and lethargic and lost their natural instinct to hunt mice though plenty of them was around. She at her own cost engaged a vet who would come all the way from Kalkaji in South Delhi unfailingly every week to examine the health of these cats. Often she would bring branded cat feed and treat them patiently to the utter surprise of our residents. Among the residents, there were some dog owners but not a single cat owner. Even she did not carry anyone in her apartment as it remained closed during the daytime when she was out for her work. With diet supplements and medicines, cats became agile and their tiger-like stroll and pounce behind the bushes became delighted to our eyes. I thought for the first time the mice around were sensing the danger of some kind non-existent so far. There were no stray dogs in our society who could pose danger to the cats as the pet dogs were always walked by their owners on a leash and never let loose. Whenever Chaitali was on her leisurely walk on the lawn, somehow the cats would sense and follow her playfully together. Chaitali had a nickname in our society and that was cat woman.

I always felt attracted to beautiful and intelligent women. Naturally, I too tried to befriend the cat woman. The result was near disaster.

It was an overcast Sunday afternoon in the last week of August. A couple of showers in the morning brought coolness and long-awaited respite from stifling humidity. She was sitting on a chair on the footpath that separated the lobby of our block and the internal road. On her lap was a book -Argumentative Indian by Amartya Sen –that I could see from the distance and a cat with thick white whisker curled up close to her feet. I sat on the other chair. Besides these two plastic chairs which we were sitting on, also was there a wrought iron bench painted red and green which was vacant at that time. She did not care to look at me. I glanced twice at her and then looked the other way pretending to watch two doves playing on the top of the lamp post at the opposite side of the road. Suddenly it occurred to me, I did not know why she might take interest in the Wall Street crisis triggered by the fall of The Lehman Brothers in 2008.

“Excuse me madam” I am Partha Saha

She looked at me this time. “Yes, I know. You are Vivek’s father.”

“Oh yes, madam. He talks about you. You are a great scholar”

“Did Vivek tell you that really?”

“No madam. I mean not exactly…. hey hey - what a turnaround of weather today – tumultuous change after the rains – like the Wall Street after the fall of Lehman Hey Hey…”

“Did you hear the name, Dick Fuld?”

“No, it seems I heard the name but can’t recall when and where”

“OK. first, do a bit of research on the internet about the Wall Street meltdown. We will catch up later.”

She got up abruptly and started walking towards the exit gate of the society with Amartya Sen in hand and a cat following her feet.

I had no interest in the fall of Lehman except for the steep fall in the stock market that followed worldwide including in India. It was not very bad for me. I could buy cheap at that time and as the market recovered within a couple of years, gains were indeed handsome. India could protect herself from the clutch of the global financial crisis save minor bruises.

I was only interested to start a friendly conversation; Lehman was just an intended entry route.

Later, after a few days, Professor Aditya Roy gave me some useful information about her. Dr. Chaitali Sanyal was taking a course on the cause and effect of the Wall Street Melt Down and was researching how India could insulate herself from its global effect. I understood I had inadvertently struck a wrong chord swayed by over-enthusiasm to impress her.

I too was a bit well known in the neighborhood because of my status as an amateur author of short stories. At least once in three months, a piece of my literary venture used to come to light on the pages of East Delhi Chronicles. Many said my writing had great potential and I would do justice to my talent if I switched to full-time professional writer. I ignored it because I was working for a very reputed multinational company and was handsomely paid.

September issue of the magazine was published as scheduled on the third of the month carrying one of my detective short stories.

This short story led to my next meeting with Chaitali.

I left for work every day at about eight-thirty in the morning. Her timing was also the same perhaps five to seven minutes later because my driver and her driver were always seen standing and chatting together when I came down from my apartment. On the day of September fifth, I could neither see her car nor the driver. Instead, she herself was there adjusting her hair hands up and displaying unmindfully her silky armpit clean-shaven.

I swiftly removed my eyes from the sight of her armpit and casually said “I am going to Bhikaji, won’t mind dropping you at the South Campus”

“No thanks.” She replied curtly.

Her cab just came in and while entering the cab she smiled. “You write well,” she said and got into the cab.

That day Vivek reported in the evening his lady professor had a good collection of detective fiction – Sherlock Holmes, Hercules Poirot, Kiriti Ray, Byomkesh Bakshi, Feluda, and also James Bond.

We were fast approaching Druga Puja. I was an active member of the local Puja Club. Like every year we were planning to celebrate Durga Puja in a big way. The venue was Aradhana Park, a public park adopted and maintained by our club. It was located adjacent to our society.

We had to raise funds for the festivity. We needed sponsors like in every year. I thought of approaching Chaitali but did not have the courage to go to her apartment alone.

I did the next best thing I could. I approached Professor Aditya Roy and sought his help. He himself was an important member of our Puja Club. It was decided that three of us, he, our club president Mr. Prakash Ghosh and I would go to her apartment on coming Sunday. We went as planned and were greeted warmly.

Her living room was simply but elegantly furnished. There was a large solid wood bookcase along the left wall. Apart from books on economics, I could see a few pieces of Aruther Hailey, the detective novels Vivek told me about, and some Rabindranath. On the right wall adorned in frames were a few paintings, not original but copies of Jamini Roy and Ganesh Pyne. Below these paintings, in the gap between the dining table and the wall, was a cupboard with glass doors where some crockeries and cutleries were seen on display. The seating area was at the rear end of the room overlooking Aradhana Park through a large glazed window.

We were seated on the three-seater piece of the five-seater cane sofa set, softly cushioned. She occupied one of the single-seaters wearing blue trousers and a sleeveless white cotton top. As usual, she was looking smart and elegant even though she was on the wrong side of her forties in age. Between her and three of us was the coffee table hosting an expensive but small crystal flower vas placed on it. Swarovski, I could guess.

Professor Roy as planned started the conversation.

“Chaitali this time I have come to meet you on behalf of Puja Club,” he said

“Yes, I heard a bit of it from your son” she looked at me and said, “Aditya Da it seems you celebrate in style in that Park”. She pointed towards the view of the park through the window.

“Madam, we shall be glad to have a person of your stature as our member,” Prakash Ghosh said with his signature smile and extra sweet voice. He, now retired, was the sales director of an FMCG company.

“I am not madam for you and as a matter of fact for anyone except my students. I am just Chaitali” she averred firmly and continued “I don’t think my stature is so important that it needs special mentioning”

“So nice of you. We want to grow our membership pool. Will be glad if you could join. We have members from the Indian diaspora in many countries including the US.” Prakash Ghosh said.

He was right but not many but a handful of our members, three to be precise, having left India retained membership of our Puja Club. One of them lived in Nepal, one in Dubai, and the third one in the US who moved recently holding H1B.

She agreed and accepted a copy of our Puja booklet of 2016, which elaborated the list of office bearers and schedule of celebrations of Durga Puja, Kali Puja, and Saraswati Puja, signed a cheque of two thousand five hundred rupees as membership contribution.

We of course did not come for a mere two and half thousand, we aimed much higher.

“Chaitali, as you know Puja of this scale can hardly be funded from members’ contribution, meager in every sense” Ghosh Da continued “we mainly raise fund through advertisements from commercial establishments and also donations from the sponsors”

“I am afraid I can’t arrange an advertisement” she interrupted.

“No issue. Please see if you can sponsor some expenses … request you to kindly have a look inside the booklet” Mr. Ghosh said with confidence in his voice.

She took the booklet from the coffee table on her palms, had a brief look on the red cover sporting an artistic sketch of Ma Druga’s face with white lines, glanced at the inside pages, and said with a smile “Ok will think over”

We left forty minutes later consuming coffee she insisted to serve us. The cappuccino was excellent.

Next Saturday we received the news from our treasurer Debesh and that pleased us all in the executive committee of the Puja Club. Not only Chaitali s initial two thousand five hundred but an additional sum of two lacs, electronically transferred, smoothly sailed into our club’s bank account.

Our president did call Chaitali in the same evening, expressed gratitude, and invited her to attend the weekly meeting of the organizing committee scheduled on Sunday evening.

On Sunday at about eleven thirty in the morning I could see a specimen of Chaitali’s anger on the internal road near A block. One of the stray cats in our society was nearly run over by Mr Taneja’s Toyota. Chaitali did not care for her safety, darted like an eagle and picked up the little cat on her lap, moments before the screeching sound of the Toyota’s brake was heard. The guards came in swiftly, so also a few residents moving around. I saw Chaitali holding the cat, terrified and traumatized, on her hands, and standing like a tigress at the driver side car door commanding Taneja, still inside and in a fix, to come out. Taneja came out as an obedient pupil to listen to Chaitali’s reprimand and sermon on animal rights. She was boiling in anger and sarcasm and speaking in fluent English in American accent. Taneja was a businessman of my age, a tall and handsome person with sophisticated bearing and gentle mannerism. He apologized profusely to close the matter. So far I had not seen Chaitali speaking in American accent. It occurred to me extreme anger brought out this accent disgorged over poor Taneja, who perhaps hardly understood the verbose hurled at him.

At this very moment appeared Bibhas, the secretary of our Puja Club. He was a tall, bald, be-spectacled, fair complexioned man of my age but he looked older than me probably because, as I could infer, he smoked not less than a pack every day. Size of his tummy did not speak well of his fitness and rather testified his culinary indulgence. He however was very jovial and gregarious person with positive attitude towards life and always smiling. He took the responsibility to convince Chaitali to attend our Puja Club meeting that evening. I was to go with him to her flat and introduce him. Now he came at a time when I had to introduce the cat woman with a cat on her lap amidst this unexpected commotion.

“Chaitali madam, meet Mr Bibhas Sen, our club Secretary” I said bringing as much courage in my voice as possible.

“Madam? who madam? Don’t I have a name? Yes Mr. Bibhas, I read the group messages on the WhatsApp sent by you. Tell me what else you want” she said in excited and sharp voice.

I could make out she could not recover herself yet from the horror of the attempted assassination of the cat. The poor creature however recovered by this time, jumped out and disappeared behind a car, not Mr. Taneja’s. He drove out without wasting time.

“Boudi why don’t you join our club meeting today evening? I will pick you up and drop off whenever you like” Bibhas spoke.

“Boudi? Why Boudi? I seem to be younger than you and I have a name. Call me Chaitali if you want to speak” she continued “Didn’t I tell Mr Ghosh that I will try to come? Why again this request? And I know the place, I can walk this five hundred meters each way… thanks for your offer but walking is better. Hey Kavita where are you going this time?”

The last sentence was addressed to my wife Kavita. She was on her way from C Block to A Block where the managing committee office of our society was located.

“Hi Chaitali! Today is Sunday. Weekly meeting of our managing committee” Kavita replied.

“May I join? That day Mr. Chopra requested me to drop in” Chaitali asked.

Mr Chopra was the secretary of the of the society. He was the undisputed leader of the team which managed this residential complex of two hundred and fifty apartments divided in four blocks – A, B, C, D. He initiated the practice of inviting respected residents, not part of the managing committee, to attend and give their views in the committee meetings. Every week one such invitee did attend.

“Yes you may. Today Dr. Chauhan of B Block was to come but he had to leave for Indore yesterday. None else confirmed. Please join” Kavita said.

The two ladies departed.

“No less than a tigress” said Bibhas “Let’s cool over beer at your place”.

We had beer, Budweiser. By the time I finished one can, Bibhas finished two. He wanted to smoke but I did not permit smoking in my flat.

Meeting over, before lunch Kavita returned.

“Chaitali delivered a fabulous talk and repeatedly said a part of one’s consciousness was not awakened till one loved an animal. I liked both the content and delivery of the speech” said Kavita.

Within a few days a wave of “Love Animals” gripped our society. WhatsApp group of likeminded residents was formed with Chaitali as the leader. Taneja and other people changed their driving habits and learned to be careful not only about humans but also about other living creatures on roads.

Chaitali did not turn up at the Puja Meeting that Sunday. Bibhas, a bit dramatically and surely with some spice and exaggeration, explained his encounter with Chaitali. 

“Ma Durga sent her lion perhaps to tame you Bibhas “Debdatta Mukherjee, a seventy plus gentleman and one of the founder members of the Puja Club commented.

“We have to live with tantrums of our financiers” said Prakash Ghosh.

Puja meetings were attended by Organizing Committee members and their family. Important decisions were usually taken separately only to be ratified or just notified formally in the meeting. Sometimes there were short debates but at the end always unanimity prevailed. The atmosphere was that of congenial networking especially when ladies were present in good numbers. To encourage participation, contributory dinner was served.

On that day Rani, Rupali, Chitralekha and Sunita were present. They were wives of our active members and most beautiful of the lot. All of them were about eight to ten years my junior and I always enjoyed pulling their legs whenever opportunities presented themselves and those were aplenty. I was Dada to all of them.

“Dada, why don’t you try your skill on that tigress?” asked Rani.

“He won’t as he is tiger before a lamb and a lamb before a tiger” added Rupali.

I somehow felt she could be a cat woman but not certainly a ferocious tigress as portrayed by Bibhas.

“She is smart and educated. Why should she accept male dominance? We shall form a union under her leadership to make our voice heard” Chitralekha commented laughingly.

Secretary Bibhas finally said “Whatever it may be, our Puja is getting benefited by her largesse. My personal experience notwithstanding, as secretary of the club, I am willing to meet her again and invite to attend the next meeting”

Prakash Ghosh did not want to risk any untoward displeasure of this little known lady even though her generous contribution was already received. He advised Bibhas to refrain from such adventurous intentions.

The next meeting of Puja Committee was held on next Saturday. After rains the weather was fine. Chicken biriyani and misti doi was on menu and advance information about this culinary delight was given to all committee members through group communication.

Attendance was above normal and that included the ladies brigade, the chirpy pretty ones, I spoke of already, and also the youth brigade of college going children of our members – Vivek, Kasturi, Tithi, Shaumik, Diya and Disha. Elders were seriously discussing some important Puja related topics, specification of pakora for Saptami lunch menu for example, ladies were eloquent about their wish list of musical programs and what the young team was doing was not clear as they were looking at each other’s phone and bursting into frequent laughter in one corner of the room.

Nobody expected Chaitali. But suddenly she turned up. She was looking stunning in tight olive jeans, body hugging sweat shirt striped white and red, and a pair of black sneakers. Her thick and shiny black hair, styled as I always noticed, was let loose carelessly on her back. She was wearing a crystal pendent on her neck, a pair of crystal ear rings on her ears and dark maroon lip stick on her sensuous lips. Besides sensuality, her eyes, covered with glasses framed in black, accentuated her scholastic intellectuality, too prominent to ignore. My sight was however struck on her body parts hidden behind the sweat shirt briefly for a few seconds only, as more than that would not be possible without inviting embarrassing attention from others. She was head turner not only for men but the women too present there.

“What a pleasant surprise, please do come in” Prakash Ghosh welcomed her warmly.

As the chairs were all occupied, some members were seated on the rug neatly laid on the floor and covered with white and crisp cotton bed sheets.

Surajit, one of our members who in-spite of busy schedule as a professional journalist on economic affairs always attended our Puja meetings with remarkable regularity, was sitting on a chair close to the entrance of the room. He promptly got up, offered his seat to her and moved to sit on the floor.

Chaitali greeted everyone with beaming smile, removed her shoes and swiftly sat on the floor beside Bibhas. Startled by the “tigress” Bibhas reflexively moved backward almost colliding with Nanda aunty, the seventy-five-year-old lady who directed all the rituals during the Puja days. Giggle of Chitralekha and Rani was heard from behind. Many of us including Bibhas understood the reason.

Chaitali as she attended such a meeting for the first time gave a short introduction of herself outlining her journey as a Kolkata girl to the US in the nineties -from schooling at South Point, Economics in Presidency, PHD in London School of Economics and finally as Professor of Business Economics in a reputed university in Texas.

Chaitali never disclosed her marital status. She always added, whenever needed, Ms before her name and not Mrs. Obviously such pre-name preference never provided any decisive information on this matter.

In our Eastern Nest everyone assumed her to be single at least for the present. She was a professor and had an intellectual halo around her so none dared asking a straight question.

This straight question came up this time from Sunita.

“Di, do you have a boyfriend? “She asked unable to suppress her curiosity.

Chaitali did not expect this question and I was expecting an impending tempest.

Sunita later told me she wanted to know about her husband, if any, but thought perhaps boyfriend was a safer word than husband.

This time nothing untoward happened. Chaitali calmly replied “Yes I had but after Rita….”

The sentence remained unfinished. “Oh! sorry very sorry Di. Oh my God” Sunita looked crestfallen.

Obviously there was another woman angle, a very sensitive matter Sunita stirred unaware.

There was silence for a few seconds. I thought I just had seen a faint shadow of sadness on Chaitali’s face! Did I really? I was confused.

Nanda aunty took the lead to defuse this tense situation and asked Chaitali “Do you participate in any Puja events in the US? “

“Yes aunty. There we celebrate in the week ends in Houston. I normally like to help the priest in performing Puja rituals following traditional norms” She said.

I did not know whether anybody believed such a glamorous and erudite woman could have enough devotion and patience to spend time with the priest on Puja days, but Nanda aunty said “In that case in our Puja you shall be my chief assistant “

“Very gladly” said Chaitali.

As part of Puja celebration every year we organized Anandamela, a home cooked food fair, on the day of Panchami, one day before the five-day long Puja celebration began. Ladies brought home cooked food items in the decorated stalls raised at the Puja ground and sold those to the visitors which mostly included our members, their families, friends and guests.

On behalf of organizing committee Mrs. Nipa Dutta, or Nipa boudi as she was fondly called, was given the responsibility to organize the Anandamela of this year.

“Madam cooks well” said Vivek.

Last week when Vivek went to her flat for his economics lesson, he tasted fish chops prepared by her. He liked immensely and reported back home.

“I may have to travel. Anyway will try” said Chaitali.

“OK one table will remain reserved for you” said Nipa.

Though Chaitali agreed to almost all major decisions taken in the meeting, she raised her strong objection when I tabled my proposal to curtail dominance of Rabindranath Tagore in portfolio of our cultural program. Every year we organized three musicals based on Tagore’s songs – the opening ceremony, one solo program by Sunita and one ballet led by Madhuri. Both of them were excellent performers but to me and many others these musicals have already cloyed our taste and turned cliché.

My proposal but for Chaitali’s vehement objection would have been accepted.

She was unequivocal in her objection.

“We have all our roots in Bengal. Is not? From our childhood days we grew up and lived under cultural influence of Tagore. His music is like our religion. It is in every drop of our blood. How can we even dare to make such a ridiculous proposal? “she continued her speech for about two minutes or so and finally concluded addressing to me “Are you in sense Mr Saha?”

When Chaitali was continuing with her emotionally charged delivery of words, Rupali whispered behind me “Dada, the tigress is back “

Sensing the danger, I did not press for my proposal further.

Later everybody made fun of my so called tame surrender.

During dinner Chaitali mostly talked to Surajit on the state of Indian Economy. This was expected as Surajit too was an economist and that too from Delhi School of Economics. What was not expected was Chaitali’s acceptance to Surajit’s proposal to drop her home. I remembered last week she had declined Bibhas’s request stating she was fit enough to walk five hundred meters or so each way.

Puja celebration went off well like in every year.

Chaitali had a short work related visit to Dhaka and returned two days before the Anandamela.

She enthusiastically participated in Anandamela food fair which glittered like a well displayed food court.

She prepared Bengali sweet Chitrakoot and sold at a very competitive price. Combination of taste and price made the item a great hit. Two hundred pieces just vanished in two hours! Vivek helped her to set up the stall and was the first customer too. He was very fond of gulab jamoon family of sweets and in his child hood days he fondly named Chitrakoot as square gulab jamoon.

Next day was Shashti. The idol of goddess Durga was formally welcomed on that day and the five-day long festivity till immersion on the day of Bijoya Dashami commenced.

The Puja was inaugurated in presence of the local Member of the Legislative Assembly, the Municipal Councillor and the Assistant Commissioner of Police. ACP was a Bengali cop who had taken charge of our area just about two weeks back. Unlike the MLA and the Councillor, the police officer was not familiar with our Puja. President Prakash Ghosh and secretary Bibhas apprised him.

After inauguration when sweets and coconut water were served to the distinguished guests, Chaitali was seen speaking to the ACP.

Chaitali positioned herself as undisputed leader among the youngsters who volunteered in all activities like performing artwork to beautify the Puja venue, crowd control during anjali time, overseeing the packing and distribution of prasad, serving community lunch, coordinating all items of entertainment and what not. She and the team of dedicated youth comprising Shaumik, Vivek, Tithi, Kasturi, Disha, Sreemoyee and several others were the busiest lot who made the Puja celebration a great success. She also assisted Nanda aunty in Puja rituals but in this department the senior ladies did most of the work and her contribution was perfunctory.

There was a disconcerting moment too and that was at the time of the quiz program on the day of Navami.

Navami usually attracted maximum crowd during lunch time as it was the last day of celebration and also the best menu was served on that day.

Over last several years I was hosting the quiz program to keep the crowd engaged in the period after the last round of the anjali and before the beginning of community lunch. The quiz was more of fun than test of knowledge as questions were set to tease common sense without any bias to age, education, gender and social status. Every year the program was a great success and it was evident from the fact I always received personal compliments when the program ended.

Chaitali enthusiastically attended the program but failed to answer a single question. I asked forty questions in a span of one and half hours. Thirty-one was answered by the audience which showed high collective success and awareness.

When the program ended Rani who sat beside Chaitali and could rightly answer two questions said laughingly to her “Di, we expected you to do well. You failed us.”

There were roars of laughter. “Sachin Tendulkar got a pair of duck this time.” someone commented.

I could see disappointment on Chaitali’s face. She however remained composed, smiled and said “I am an ordinary person who leads a simple life. I feel a bit dejected that I could not answer the question on Chitrakoot.”

The question on Chitrakoot was designed by me for Chaitali only after seeing the performance of this item on the food court of Anandamela. The question was “Which member of Gulab Jamoon family of sweets is of cuboid shape?”

I was really disappointed when she could not pick up that.

Young Tithi who was assisting me in the quiz program swiftly came to her rescue.

“Chaitali madam does not need to prove herself. She is our leader” the collective voice of the youth brigade was loud and clear.

Apart from the huge respect Chaitali earned from these youngsters, there was also a tangible reason for such overwhelming support. They had two night outs with her, on Saptami and Ashtami days, to visit Pujas in different parts of the city and liberally indulged themselves on street food and ice-cream generously sponsored by her.

Like in every year we did organize dhunuchi dance for women in the evening of Navami. Rani always excelled in this event but this time Chaitali matched her step by step. At one point of time the competition between these two women turned so intense that others left the dance arena and enjoyed only watching and applauding. Their synchronous performance in duet and that too wearing saree was indeed magnificent.

Next day was the day of Bijoya Dashami. Chaitali did not participate in sindhur khela of the married woman. Nobody enquired about her as everybody knew the reason. In the evening before the community dinner, when urged by Chitralekha, she performed a short recital of classical dance of Manipuri style just after Sunita’ s solo performance of Rabindra Sangeet.

During Puja, she put even the male members at ease and perhaps to dispel her tigress image, she mixed and even chatted with them informally at times. 

A new problem emerged after the Puja.

Apart from story writing, I had already earned some reputation as an amateur private investigator within our society and in the neighbourhood. My investigation never involved any crime and in that sense the term “private investigator” was a misnomer. I simply tried my hands to gather intelligence on matters of property ownership, tenant background, matrimony, marital discord and even employee verification for my clients and report to them. In these activities, I did develop some connection with governmental authorities, police, lawyers and others who could help. Though I mentioned so many, yet my specialization was matrimony and my clients mainly relied upon me for matrimonial verification. Just a few days back, I saved Mrs. Banani Patil of nearby Kanungo Housing Society when she almost decided to marry her daughter to an IT professional in the US. I tracked down the person through my contacts in the US and to the chagrin of Patil family discovered that the so called IT professional was in fact an ordinary taxi driver in a small town in the state of Wisconsin.

It was the day before Kojagari Lakshmi Puja, a very important festival of the Bengalis who on that day worshipped Goddess Lakshmi, the Goddess of wealth, in the first full moon night after Bijoya Dashami. In the evening I boarded the elevator at our sixth floor, Chaitali and two others entered at the fourth. The elevator was going down. I noticed she was wearing sleeveless white Shalwar Kurta and sporting a vibrant green dupatta which was liberally positioned to display just a hint of her well-shaped cleavage. I pretended not to look at that specific part of her body and simply chose to nod her wearing a casual smile. She reciprocated.

Getting out of the lift I started moving swiftly when she called me from behind “Partha Da, would like to speak to you in private “

The stress on the word “private “was mysterious to me.

Incidentally we both were going to the nearby shopping centre outside our society. The short private discussion took place on the way barely audible to others.

The crux of the discussion was that she received a telephonic threat. A mysterious man, called and said that he was coming soon to take her back to the US. She had no clue about who the man was except that the accent of the caller appeared to her was more Indian than American. She wanted my help and did not want to report to the police.

Caller’s phone number was available but it was a land line number. Through my contact I could trace the phone number but was disappointed at the end result. The call originated from a doctor’s clinic in Noida. When contacted the doctor told sometimes his patients used that phone but it was impossible for him to identify the caller.

Two days later another ominous thing happened. She received a small packet, nicely gift wrapped, containing a small but real knife inside with a skull and cross bone warning sign pasted on the handle.

The packet was discovered by Chaitali herself in her pigeon hole letter box located at the lobby of C Block. It was about nine in the evening. She came down to see off two girls, Tithi and Diya, the daughters of our Puja Club members, Sujit and Soumitra. They came to seek her advice on admission process of the US universities where they planned to apply to.

I interrogated our guards at the main gate of the society who used to routinely receive the letters or small packets on behalf of the residents and deliver to their designated post box, unless the consignments were of such nature that direct delivery to the apartments was mandatory. The guards vehemently denied having seen any delivery intended to Chaitali’s apartment. So there was no clue except that a couple of delivery boys from nearby restaurants were seen at C Block around that time. We had closed circuit TVs at the main gate and the basement parking area but not at the lobbies of each block. Installation was planned but not implemented due to paucity of fund. Whatever CCTV footage we had was examined but that did not yield any result.

A couple of days after the discovery of the knife, Chaitali was walking towards her office, casually speaking over her mobile, the latest and an expensive model of Apple. According to her a stout woman accosted her on a motor cycle from behind, snatched the phone from her and drove away swiftly before she could sense what was happening. The place was a bit lonely inside South Campus and time was around eight in the evening. She raised an alarm, there were several motor bike riders who the bystanders could track down. But the bike with the stout woman was not found.

When she told me of the incident, with a request from her not to spread the news, I insisted reporting to the police but she declined even though the cost of such high end phone was not insignificant.

I rang the phone number many times but always found switched off. Obviously the SIM was discarded by the thief.

Next day happened to be Karva Chauth. Traditionally on that day in North India, the wives kept fast the whole day for the welfare of their husbands, and then dressed in the best of their attire, jewelleries and accessories, in the evening watched the moon, not directly but through a metal sieve, before breaking fast. Thereafter the restaurants usually did brisk business.

Mrs Mamta Garg was an activist of the newly formed animal lover group and this common interest brought her close to Chaitali, already famed in our society as cat woman. She invited her at the central lawn where a bevy of gorgeously dressed married women of all ages assembled to celebrate the moon watching ceremony. The Bengalis like us did not celebrate this but as Mamta implored, Chaitali joined.

Mamta asked her “Were you married? “The significance of using “were” was obvious as everybody in our society was sure of her present status of singleness.

She replied “I had a boyfriend but after Rita …” The sentence was not completed, perhaps deliberately.

Mamta was smart enough to understand that there was another woman. She promptly switched the topic of discussion.

I was not present there to witness but Kavita was there to represent the managing committee.

She narrated to me later.

Next day Chaitali found the phone unharmed but in switched off condition with the SIM working.

Every flat in our society had about six feet long and three feet wide foyer. Landing of the elevator on the floor was at a wide lobby surrounded by the main entry gates, grilled and secured, one each for every apartment. Entry through this gate leads to the foyer of which at the other end was the decorated timber door opening up into apartment’s living area.

Chaitali did remember having locked both the doors from inside before going to bed. In the morning she was shuddered and shocked first to see the outer gate was open. She suspected to have forgotten to lock the gate as the lock was in perfect condition and there was no sign of forced entry. At that time on the top of shoe rack, the only piece of furniture kept in the foyer, when her eyes fell, she could see something packed with a piece of old newspaper. She did not remember having seen the packet before. Could be something her maid who had cooked food last night left back, she thought.

She phoned the maid to enquire but she too had no knowledge of the packet.

Curious, she opened the packet and was indeed shocked again, delightfully though, to find her lost phone. But joy of pleasant surprise evaporated as under the phone there was small piece of yellow paper whereon the words LAST WARNING was seen in bold capital.

I just woke up and having brushed my teeth was sipping my favourite cup of Darjeeling sitting on the arm chair at my balcony overlooking the very same Aradhana Park where we celebrated our Puja only a few days back and a few days later would celebrate our Kali Puja on the day of Diwali.

The phone rang. Chaitali was at the other end anxiously requesting me to come to her place, two floors down.

The only thing I could do was to observe the newspaper. There was no way to find out the date but from the news of an IPL cricket match printed on it, I could make out it was the paper of May that year. and we were then in October. Chaitali moved to her apartment in July.

This time I vehemently asked her to report to the police, but she firmly refused and asked me “What are you doing Partha Da? Why are you not able to crack this puzzle? I am counting on you”

It was a valid question. Indeed, I could make very little headway. But I was not sitting idle either. Chaitali talked about her association with the Durga Puja at Houston. I activated my connections in the US and could lay hands on some photographs capturing the festivity of that Puja a couple of years back. There was one couple group photo where Chaitali was vividly visible in a traditional Bengali outfit standing beside a man.

The photo was available in my phone. I showed to her.

“As I told you all I had a boyfriend. It is he” she said quite nonchalantly.

I did not want to dig into this sensitive topic further and said “Feel very sorry, not being able to help you”

“It’s alright. Never mind. Let’s wait till Diwali. If needed will report to the police”

This was the first time Chaitali talked about reporting to the police.

The climax happened two days ahead of Diwali on the day of Dhantaras.

On that day buying metallic items was considered auspicious. Not only metal, entire India shopped madly on that day and bought everything. The shops in local neighbourhood markets, large central markets and swanky malls did brisk business, so also the on line retailers like Amazon & Flipkart. On that day crowd at the jewellers, both in urban and rural India, dispelled the very perception that India was a low income country.

Kavita was interested to visit her favourite jeweller Tanishiq in the evening so I promised to return from work early and drive down to the DLF mall in Noida.

Unfortunately, I had to disappoint Kavita.

The reason was Chaitali. In the afternoon about at three I received her call. she called me to inform that a man asked her to meet that day at the airport without fail. The prescribed place of the meeting was the arrival taxi stand of the terminal 1 and the time at five in the afternoon. In case of no show, he threatened to reach her apartment and spill the bins.

The man had sent his photograph over WhatsApp. The originating phone number had the country code of Bangladesh.

From the photo it seemed the man was around fifty in age, tall and dark, with thick moustache and neatly trimmed black french cut beard. He was wearing oversized black glasses covering his eyes and part of his face and had a rather ugly looking thick mole, prominently visible on his right cheek. He was wearing a white hat of the same type what the cricketers wear while fielding in the sun. Other than those, also visible was his bottle green polo shirt with the crocodile mark of Lacoste.

Chaitali said she met the man in a famous boutique in Dhaka where he did try to be over friendly with her. But nothing untoward happened.

Before Puja, Chaitali did visit Bangladesh. The words “spill the bins” made me suspicious. She was single, traveling alone and very attractive in looks. Was there any short spark and fling? I did not dare to ask her.

But my suspicion remained and in fact deepened as she declined again to inform the police and instead requested me to reach the place, trail him discreetly and report his whereabouts. She implored earnestly to keep the matter between us only.

There was not much time left. It would take about one and half hour to drive down to the airport from my office in Noida. I called Bibhas and requested him to accompany me. Initially he was not keen and said “Is she your sister or have you fallen for her? Why are you taking this trouble and inviting danger for yourself?”

I replied “Indeed she really means nothing to me. But she, a woman, is a fellow resident of our society and a fellow member of our Puja Club. She counts on my help. How can I refuse her?”

It required about five to seven minutes to cajole and finally convince him.

It was decided both he and I would reach separately by cabs from our work places, I from Noida and he from Okhla. Driving own cars, though both of us had company paid chauffeurs, would be inconvenient if we had to discreetly trail the man, as the cars had to be left at the arrival parking lot.

We, both Bibhas and I, reached nearly at the same time and indeed spotted the man at about five minutes after five. He was looking around desperately. We of course knew who he was looking for.

He looked almost the same as in his photograph I saw and shared with Bibhas, with the same styling of beard and the same hat on his head. Instead of the green polo shirt as in the photo, he wore a half sleeved cotton shirt, vibrant red in colour, and an imperfectly knotted green tie. Over his shirt he wore an oversized ill fit yellow silk half jacket. His trousers were of crumpled cotton of maroon shade, the bottom of which left a small gap between his polished shoes of orange leather and through that gap his white and blue socks were clearly visible.

“A perfect rainbow outfit” Bibhas commented.

He bought a cup of coffee from the kiosk where we two had tea just minutes before.

He casually moved towards the taxi stand. Around this time on normal days, crowd at the taxi stand would be thin but on the day of Dhanteras, there was a long queue of the passengers. He stood in the queue and we stood behind.

At the booking counter, the man said “I P Extension”. Our heart jumped but we kept cool. We too booked for I P Extension.

It was very clear to both of us that he was heading to Chaitali’s apartment surely to “spill the bins”

We told our taxi driver to follow the taxi in front where our target was visible relaxing at the back seat.

Our taxi driver was curious “Why Sir?”

“Should we have to tell here or at the Police Station?” Bibhas told sternly.

The driver took us for sleuths in plain clothes. Such things were common in airport area. He did not ask further questions.

I called Chaitali and informed everything.

“What? Oh my God!” she said in trembling voice “I am calling the Police.”

“Please alert your neighbours” I said

“Please don’t tell anything to Kavita or others in the society. Please, for the sake of my reputation. Police will take care of him” she said.

The word “reputation” was in fact confirmation of my suspicion. But she had the right to privacy. Bibhas and I decided not to call anyone in our society.

The taxi stopped in front at our society gate. He got down so we. I saw the Police car with Assistant Commissioner of Police embossed on the name plate parked outside. “Smart Woman, managed to convince ACP to come” I muttered.

He spoke to a guard at the gate who we knew routinely took Chaitali’s permission to let her in. We followed him closely and checked in the same elevator. He pressed the button of the fourth floor, my apartment was at sixth but I pressed the button of the fifth.

He dis-embarked at the fourth. We went up to the fifth and quickly moved down to the fourth through the stairs and found him waiting at the front grilled gate of Chaitali’s apartment.

What gripped Bibhas that time was difficult to explain. He jumped like a tiger, pounced on the man and caught hold of his collar. The man was stultified when Bibhas said in filmy style roaring voice “Your game is over”

At that moment the gate opened and Chaitali came out.

 “Leave him Bibhas da. He is my husband Shakti”

It was surprise of my life.

“Hus ...Hus. “I lost my voice and almost mimicked Jatayu as we saw in Ray’s film on Feluda.

We entered her flat to find our Assistant Commissioner of Police Mr. Purnendu Bose relaxing on the couch with a cup of tea in hand.

He welcomed Shakti “Welcome my friend, why such a clown’s attire?” he said pointing to his weird sartorial display.

“Instruction of Chaitali” he said curtly “When did you come Purnendu? “

It turned out both Shakti and Purnendu studied in the same school, Calcutta Boys, when they lived in Kolkata decades back.

“Could you locate these two gentlemen? “Chaitali asked her husband pointing to Bibhas and me.

“Yes the photos you sent on WhatsApp were too clear to miss out”

“Your son Vivek clicked as part of his Durga Puja portfolio. He does a good job “said Chaitali looking at me.

We wanted to be excused but Chaitali insisted for a cup of coffee which was necessary at this situation.

When Chaitali was in the kitchen, Purnendu said to Shakti “Now remove your beard, moustache and that obnoxious mole you planted on your cheek. “

“With pleasure.” He said

When Shakti undisguised himself, I was flabbergasted.

“Hou. Hou.... my voice choked again in excitement.

“Yes you deserve the credit to solve the mystery before it existed” Chaitali said coming out of the kitchen “he is the same man who you found in the group photo of Houston Durga Puja”

Bibhas was unaware of this piece of information. Chaitali explained to him as he was looking inquisitive.

I wanted to ask more questions, but she said “No more digging out now, have your coffee, rest is tomorrow”

“Tomorrow?” I enquired.

“I am hosting a dinner tomorrow on the occasion of our anniversary. Last year we celebrated in Paris, this year we planned in Dhaka but I changed my mind to be with the wonderful people like you” she said and added “Bibhas da and Partha da, both Ratna and Kavita know about it as I spoke to them.

Ratna was Bibhas’s wife.

While leaving, Bibhas who had the incorrigible natural urge to address the wives of Puja Club members as Boudi, said “Thanks Chaitali Boudi. will definitely join tomorrow”

Chaitali said “will be delighted to welcome you, Ratna and Shaumik tomorrow and be happier if you drop the suffix Boudi after my name”

That was the day of Chhota Diwali and main Diwali would be celebrated on the day next. It was festival of light so the festive spirit expressed itself in luminous makeover of the entire society like in other parts of this capital city and many other places of India, especially in the northern half of this vast country. Society management had decorated the entire premises with colourful lights and the residents lit the apartments, they lived in, often extravagantly.

We reached Chaitali’s apartment, the venue of her party, at about eight thirty in the evening. Some guests already arrived and started chatting and exchanging Diwali greetings.

By nine all invitees who could make it were there. Prakash Ghosh and Aditya Roy with their wives reached before us, so also Rupali with husband Debesh, our Puja Club treasurer, and her daughter Kasturi.

Later Disha came with her mother as father Kalyan was stuck at work. Bibhas came with family and Sunita with her daughter Diya. Tithi came alone as his parents, living in a society close by, were away in Kolkata. Chitralekha could not come but Rani arrived without husband, who could not reach as his flight from Chennai was delayed. Last arrival was Surajit with wife Neha a senior government officer.

Vivek was with his favourite Canon DSLR.

The living room was crowded and Chaitali had to borrow some chairs from the neighbours to seat her guests.

We started with Galauti kabab and Paneeer Tikka as pre-dinner snacks. Fish chops were also served in the second round.

“Both Shakti and I are teetotaller. Kept some beer and wine only. Please help yourself” Chaitali said.

Bibhas whispered to me “No whiskey or Vodka” He was disappointed at the available choice of alcoholic beverage.

Many of us did not mind. Budweiser was provided along with Bordeaux, French red wine.

Shakti seemed to be a bit reserved, generous in smile but laconic in words. Whatever words he was exchanging were mainly with Purnendu Bose, ACP and his child hood friend.

Chaitali introduced him formally. He also lived in Kolkata and after completing masters in statistics from Indian Statistical Institute moved to the US. He was currently a professor of Statistics of the same university where Chaitali was teaching in the US. Of late he joined Dhaka University as a visiting professor and would continue there for a year.

I understood now why Chaitali visited Dhaka.

She looked stunning in a gorgeous maroon & blue Jamdani with sleeveless blouse revealing a good part of her upright back, silk smooth arms, thin waist and sensual outline of her cleavage. On her neck hanged a longish neckless of white gold or platinum with a pendent of ruby and diamond which lightly touched her cleavage. On ears were matching ear rings and a Swarovski bracelet embezzled her right wrist. Her lush black thick hair was free flowing on her back and shoulders, as always. Lips were adorned with light tinge of lip stick of maroon shade and on her limpid eyes were the glasses framed in black which she always wore. Fragrance of her perfume was subtle to add to her glamour and sensuality.

Last year while in Dhaka on a business visit I window shopped at a famous boutique in the city where I saw a saree almost identical to the one she was wearing. It was too expensive for me to afford.

I took a chance to demonstrate my investigating skill and asked Chaitali “So it was at Aarong at Gulshan where someone tried to be over friendly with you?”

“Yes investigator Partha Da, but no discussion now. Unwinding of mystery will happen after dinner over coffee. Tomorrow is Diwali. Night is still young” she said to me adding further. “That day you were showing interest about Lehman, I promised Surajit to show a video. Interested?”

My interest was not real but on the topic and was just a ploy to move forward in our first meeting. But the truth could not be revealed so I agreed to watch.

The video was played on the TV in the living room.

The ladies moved to one of the bedrooms and the children to the another.

Surajit, Shakti, Chaitali and I watched the video.

It was intriguing to watch how the illimitable arrogance of Mr. Dick Fuld, the then chief executive officer of the company led to the downfall of the Lehman Brothers triggering unprecedented global financial crisis that crippled global economy for years. Merrill Lynch was saved by Bank of America and Fed rescued AIG, Lehman fell because of miscalculated avarice and missed opportunities.

When we were watching the video, other male guests including Purnendu were seen engrossed in animated discussion in the third bed room first on Indian politics and then on Indian cricket. I rued about showing my interest on Lehman and missing such interesting discussion.

After video I was successful to engage Shakti in a dialogue on stock market, a topic, I found he had interest in.

The dinner was simple but superb. Chaitali cooked all the items herself including the snacks served earlier. Everything on the main course menu was typical Bengali culinary delight. Fried topshe, steamed ilish in mustard sauce, tiger prawn cooked in thick coconut gravy, crisply deep fried white flour Bengali parota and of course fragrant rice, not basmati but truly Bengali govindabhog.

For the dessert there was only one item and that was Misti Doi, Bengal sweet card. Vivek and Shaumik drove to Chandni Chowk and brought from Annapurna, the iconic sweet shop.

“Where did you get the fish from, C.R Park?” asked Prakash Ghosh.

“No, one of my students live in Indira Puram. On my request he procured from Gazipur wholesale fish market and delivered here” she replied.

 “How did you manage to do all these alone?” Kavita asked

“Not alone. Cook Champa and her sister helped”

“What about your cats Di?” asked Rupali

“I treated them in the afternoon, they had the priority over all of you” she said.

“On behalf of the women present here, I dare to say all our husbands secretly admire you. We are stressed under severe inferiority complex” Ratna said in artificially serious tone but in genuinely light mood.

All of us laughed loudly at such candid admission which was not grossly untrue.

Chaitali blushed this time and said “Please don’t embarrass me. You all are wonderful. I saw photos and moods captured by Vivek. If you permit me to say none can beat Rani. If any woman has secret admirer, she should be Rani”

I could not fully disagree. Rani was our dark beauty and she in-spite of dark skin was very attractive with her slim well portioned figure and enviable photogenic face with dazzling smile. She was a professional model too.

Vivek was fond of clicking moods of his beautiful aunties in the Puja days. Usually Chitralekha and Rani dominated his collection but this year Chaitali received the lion’s share.

Coffee was served with the help of the young brigade.

Suddenly Chaitali became serious. “Now is the time to unwrap the truth.” She continued.

“I am an avid reader of detective novels. You see my collection in the book case. I brought only a part from my personal collection from the US. The idea hit me from Suita’s humble enquiry whether I had a boyfriend. All that I wanted to say that I had a boyfriend, Shakti as you see all here, who later became my husband when we decided to marry after the massive cyclone hit the coast of Texas eleven years back. The cyclone was named Rita; she was definitely not another woman.”

“What?” many others and I exclaimed.

“Yes Partha Saha the private investigator. But you were responsible for incidents that happened later” she said

“How?”

“Not exactly you but your quiz. I could not answer even the question on Chitrakoot. I thought I would also use my own googly. This bunch of bright boys and girls present here extended all support. The first threat call I received was made by Shaumik from his friend’s clinic in Noida. “

“Mam instructed “said Shaumik.

“The knife I received was mine purchased in Dhaka. Tithi prepared the packet with skull and cross bone warning sign and left in my post box when she came to my place. There was no CCTV in the lobby to detect this act of her.”

“Mam instructed “said Tithi.

“The story of mobile phone snatching was fake. It was here inside the drawer of the book shelf and kept switched off. Vivek tell the rest please”

“When I was out for night photography of the moon, I gave madam an old newspaper removing the cover of a book and the paper chit with LAST WARNING written on it in my own hand. “said Vivek

I recalled having seen Vivek going out on the night of Karva Chauth with his camera and I also noticed the newspaper cover of “Glimpses of World History” was missing on my book rack. The picture became clear to me.

“The rest you and Bibhas Da know well” Chaitali resumed looking at me “Shakti returned from Dhaka yesterday morning only, had lunch and spent some time with his friend at Saket in South Delhi and then reached airport again, dressed as planned. Weird outfit was necessary to make sure you would spot him without difficulty”

Shakti was silent so far. Now he added “My only problem was to convince the taxi driver to drive slowly enough to let these two gentlemen follow me comfortably”

“I know Purnendu as Shakti’ s friend. We are FB friends. He was aware of my plan” said Chaitali.

She looked triumphant having foxed us and said with a compliment to me “You did a good work tracing my photo at Houston’s Durga Puja.”

“Hope you will be with us in next year’s Puja too.” Said Prakash Ghosh.

“Unlikely dada. My visiting term will be over in July next year, so also Shakti’s in Dhaka. But memory of this year’s events will be cherished forever.”

The guests started dispersing one by one.

While leaving, Surajit said to Chaitali “Your article will be on our journal in the next issue”

When I was leaving Chaitali said to me with her coruscating smile which brightened her eyes, lips and part of teeth “Friend request is sent on FB. Accept if you want”