Note: My character in the story is an English teacher but I am not one in real life. So grammar nazis can be lenient on me & the racists can keep their snide remarks to themselves.
Note: This story is dedicated to Mona. If you are reading this story Mona, I have read your mail and I am touched. Be the character...be what you want to be.
I sighed as I finally walked past the gate of my apartment complex. It was an unusually hot day even for a city like Mumbai where the summers were cruel. The heat, the humidity, the fatigue was complimented by a heavy bag of groceries that I carried in my hands and also a big hand bag that was over my shoulder.
Drops of sweat were accumulating on my forehead as I awkwardly walked to my building. As I was walking, I noticed a cab standing below my building. It was a cab from one of those several cab hiring companies that had sprung up in the country in the last few years.
The trunk of the cab was open and I saw a couple of bags inside the trunk and I also noticed the driver sitting in the cab. He turned his head to look at me as I walked passed him, not failing to realize his lecherous stare.
'Asshole...' I thought about the cab driver and kept walking. I went over to the elevator and noticed that the 'out of order' board was hanging on the elevator door. Since my house was on the third floor, I never really needed the elevator. I had kept myself active enough to easily climb the stairs. But with all the groceries in my hand, my dehydrated body didn't have the energy to climb up the fleet of stairs which looked like huge challenge.
I cursed under my breath and started dragging myself to my third floor apartment via the stairs. I slowly and awkwardly labored my way over to my apartment and kept the bag of groceries on the stairs. I started looking for the keys to my house inside the bag when I heard footsteps coming down the stairs.
I glanced up to see a tall, lean man walking down towards me. Looking at his white complexion and blond hair, I realized that he wasn't from around; that he was a foreigner.
He stopped a couple of feet away from on the staircase. He was tall and the couple of feet added by the step made him look taller. I kept looking up at him, expecting him to say something. But he looked down at his feet and I followed his gaze to realize that my bag of groceries was in the way.
We both looked at each other and all I could do was smile awkwardly and move the bag to the side. He smiled at me, tipped his baseball cap and started walking down the stairs. I immediately picked up the bag of groceries and realized that he was staring me as he walked down the stairs. His stare wasn't as obvious and lecherous as the cabbie but none the less like a man checking out a woman. Being a woman, that too a beautiful one, I had become used to being stared and at times gawked at and didn't make much of it and walked inside my apartment.
I freshened up, had a couple of glasses of water and got down to cooking myself a meal. I was busy in the kitchen when I heard the doorbell. I wondered who it might be at the door in the middle of the afternoon. I walked over and opened the door to see my neighbor and friend Rupali.
"Hi Rhea..." Rupali said as she walked into my house.
"Hi Rupali..." I replied and closed the door behind me. Rupali and I had known each other ever since I moved to this place 5 years ago; she had moved here a year before I did. She and I were in our early thirties and we hit it off immediately and had been good friends ever since.
"We have a new neighbor amongst us." Rupali said as she walked behind me into the kitchen.
"I know." I replied.
"He's not from around here, you know?" She said as stood in the kitchen and I walked over to the kitchen counter to cook.
"I know." I replied.
"How do you know?" She asked with a sense of bewilderment, in her typical high pitched voice. Rupali, being the gossip monger of the neighborhood took offence to the fact that I knew the hottest piece of gossip before she could tell me.
"I saw him. He walked right passed me some time back." I told her, trying to pacify her dented ego.
"Ohhh...Do you know his name?" She asked.
"No I don't." I replied. As soon as I said that I saw her face glow hi delight. She finally was telling me something I didn't know.
"His name is Jacques. He is from France. His company posted him here at their office in BKC and he came to India a couple of days ago. He was living at the Marriott for the last couple of days. Mr. Mehra leased out his house to the company Jacques works in and they've giving him that place to live." Rupali said that in one breath.
I smiled in amusement at how excited she sounded telling me about a stranger from overseas who had moved in not more than an hour ago.
"How do you know all that? Are you a spy or something...like James Bond?" I asked her, wondering how she could gather all that information so quickly.
"Hahaha...No! I talked to him sometime back." She replied.
"Ohhh...You were welcoming him to the neighborhood huh?" I said and winked at her.
"Hehe...No No...just a courtesy visit; you know that I am a good neighbor." She replied, poorly justifying her walking up to a stranger and asking him a whole lot about himself.
"Hmmmm...righttttt..." I said and laughed and Rupali joined the laughter.
"What are you making for lunch?" She asked as she walked over to the counter and peeped inside on of the pots.
"Nothing special...just the usual." I replied.
"Your usual is also special for me. I love your cooking. I am not in the mood to cook today. I am going to eat here." She declared.
"Hehehe...alright..." I replied and we both got busy cooking.
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Another round of grocery shopping had come up a few days after. It had been days since Rupali had dropped by for lunch and we had talked about our new neighbor. This time I avoided going to the shop in the afternoon and opted for an evening excursion.
I walked over to the shop and heard some commotion. The shop keeper was talking loudly to a man whose back was towards me.
"No...I no Englisss...No...Vhaat you whaant?" I heard Ratichand, our neighborhood grocer speaking rather loudly.
I could hear the man speaking what was clearly not English. I walked closer to enquire when Ratichand saw me and turned to talk to me.
"Are madam...dekho na ye firang kya bol raha hai...kuch samajh nahi aa raha..." (Madam...look at this foreigner...I have no clue what he is saying). Ratichand said, sounding clearly agitated.
The man turned to me as soon as he heard Ratichand talk to me and I got a clear look at his face. It was the Frenchman from my building, Jacques. Amused at the cultural clash between the men, I smiled and walked over to them. Jacques gave me an awkward smile as I stood next to him.
