The Darya Nandkarni Misadventures Omnibus: Books 1-3 Read online

  ‘Are you sure?’ Darya asked Zabel. ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘She called Filip out of the blue and asked for a divorce lawyer,’ Zabel said.

  ‘When?’ Darya asked.

  ‘This morning.’

  ‘But why ask Filip Uncle?’

  ‘Their marriage was registered in Goa. So, she must have thought Filip could help her. She didn't seem sad or anything, or that's what Filip said. But where men know these things? They can't sense feelings like women can,’ Zabel said. ‘At first, he thought she was asking for someone else.’

  ‘She could be.’

  ‘No re,’ Zabel said, looking smug. ‘For herself only she was asking. I know.’

  ‘But she's been married for so many years,’ Darya said. ‘She said nothing about this when I met her a few days ago. What will happen to her boys?’

  ‘Poor babies,’ Zabel sniffed. ‘Her husband's a total simpleton. Our Vidisha may look simple, but she's not. Only more and more she wants. She was like that since childhood, no? Never knew her own ability, always wanted what other children had. Specially envied her brother, that girl.’

  Darya couldn't argue with Zabel on that, but—‘If the marriage wasn't working out this was the only way, I guess,’ she said.

  This dampened Zabel’s excitement somewhat.

  ‘Aplya nasiban ghov khavuncto,’ she murmured. ‘You know that one?’

  Darya shook her head.

  ‘In English it means a woman must accept the husband fate had given her. Where any of us had any choice, but we made best of what we had, no? Marriage is like that, only compromises. Do you think I like staying so far away from my sisters and brothers? No one to talk to, no gossip, not one face I see the whole day. But what to do? Filip likes to be here. Who can argue with him?’

  Darya listened to Zabel in a rare rant against her husband.

  ‘Things may be unpleasant, but we will keep up appearances,’ Darya said, imitating Filip's tone. Had her father learnt the phrase here? At Heliconia Lane?

  Zabel smiled. ‘He printed the saying and put up a poster also in the dining hall.’ Her face turned glum again. ‘Only Farideh was strong amongst us. But see what happened in the end. One has to accept.’

  Darya looked at her closely. Maybe she knew about Veronica.

  ‘Accept what, Aunty?’ she asked softly.

  ‘That men will be men,’ she said. Her eyes blurred for a second.

  Darya had an urge to shake her and ask, what? What is it that you cannot say? but knew nothing would come of it. And also... a big, cold lump of fear growing inside stopped her.

  She did not want to know.

  Then in an abrupt turn to the conversation, ‘How long is the boy going to stay?’ Zabel asked.

  ‘Who? Aaron?’ Darya asked. Zabel nodded.

  ‘A few weeks, I believe. He told me Vidisha had some plans...’ her voice trailed as she grasped what those plans were. She had been planning to move back in.

  And... the voices Darya had heard from inside Constellation... one had been male. Was he the reason why...?

  ‘Have you seen Vidisha with a man around here, at Heliconia Lane?’ Darya asked, trying to keep her voice casual.

  But the drift didn't escape Zabel. She leaned forward and asked eagerly, ‘Why? What do you know? Tell me.’

  So Zabel didn't know anything about it. Could it have been Gaurav?

  Smiling quickly, ‘I meant Gaurav. When was the last time you saw Gaurav?’

  Zabel glared at her as if she didn't quite believe her. Then, ‘A month ago.’

  So, Aaron was right.

  ‘What did he come here for?’ she asked.

  ‘I don't know,’ she said. ‘I didn't talk to him. He came to meet Filip. Really, that boy scares me man. So big and full of muscles. Your Filip Uncle says he has initiative, but I avoid him like a disease.’

  Darya paused and considered her next words carefully. She did not want to arouse any suspicion. ‘What initiative? Do you know?’ she asked.

  Zabel looked at her warily. ‘Why so many questions on Gaurav when we were talking of Vidisha?’

  ‘Was there something more on Vidisha?’

  Zabel shrugged. A disenchanted expression settled on her face. Darya guessed she'd cut short the lengthy session of gossip Zabel had planned.

  ‘She's coming to Goa soon,’ Zabel said, her eyes training into the far distance. ‘She told me about the thunderstorm. Now what will happen to the fruits in the garden?’

  Darya had no idea. She studied the bandages on Zabel's cheeks and waited to be dismissed.

  Then—‘Jesus, where are my manners?’ Zabel exclaimed. ‘Do you want a glass of mango juice? Filip plucked fresh mangoes yesterday.’

  ‘Sorry, Aunty.’ Darya got to her feet. ‘I need to run some errands, but I'll be back to meet you soon. Let me know what happens with Vidisha.’ Darya had planned to tell her about the break-in but decided to talk to Filip instead. Zabel was looking pale again.

  Darya hovered over her, waiting to say goodbye but Zabel had resumed staring into the far distance, rocking gently on the sofa.

  ‘How to know what's behind smiling faces?’ she said faintly. ‘We think a smile means happiness... contentment, but it's only an appearance, a cloak of pretence. Only a child smiles when he's really happy. I used to smile when my little boys were happy. But Anton never loved me. He told me so. He loved Farideh like a mother. Then she was gone, and it was like he lost his happiness. He blamed us. But I loved him. I miss him.’ Her voice fell to a hush. ‘I was happy when he was with me. When he was a little boy. Now no more. Why to smile anymore? What is there to live for? A smile to me now is just automatic. Habit.’

  Darya squeezed her shoulders and said, ‘Don't be sad, Aunty.’

  She turned to her. Tears rolled down her face.

  ‘You'll leave too, like everyone else,’ she said. Thin fingers encircled Darya's wrist. ‘Just as well. Heliconia is dead.’

  Afterward, Darya realized she had forgotten to ask about the accident mentioned in the letter. And the tax raid. As far as she remembered, it was Filip who had had tax raids at his home a couple of times. The neighbours had rallied together to help him out and cover for him. Or that's what her father had told her. Darya could ask her father again, but he was growing increasingly impatient with all the questioning and might get upset.

  She scanned through her phone and saw that she had a missed call from Inspector Nourahno. She dialled him back and when he picked up, in a single breath, told him about the break-in.

  ‘I'm getting a locksmith to change the locks,’ Darya said, hoping Francis had organized that for her. She didn't want to ring and check with him and she'd received no further calls from him after the deluge in the morning.

  But the inspector sounded worried.

  ‘Make a report,’ he said, ‘I'll send a constable over to the house. What time should he come?’ He paused. ‘In fact, you should move to a hotel.’

  ‘No,’ Darya said firmly. She'd thought about it long and hard. She didn't want to move to a hotel, away from Heliconia Lane. ‘Can you send over a constable though? He can check if everything is secure and nothing else is missing.’

  ‘I'll send someone. I'll make some arrangements, don't worry.’ Then after a beat, ‘You told your father about our discussion yesterday?’

  ‘Yes, I did. He's coming to Goa soon. He'll talk to you directly.’

  ‘Good, good,’ he murmured, sounding pleased. ‘You'll be safe too with a man in the house.’

  ‘The house is empty of things now,’ she said. ‘There's nothing else to steal. I'm sending off the last courier...,’ she glanced at her watch, ‘... in an hour and half.’

  ‘Good,’ he said. They were silent for a while and Darya wondered if she should say her goodbyes when the inspector said, ‘Vidisha Salgaonkar wrote me an email.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Not exactly to me, but to the police station's official ID addressing me.’

/>   ‘And?’

  ‘She accuses her brother of murdering her parents.’

  Darya was surprised. Vidisha had been keeping herself busy: renovating the house, filing for divorce, accusing her brother of murder.

  The inspector gave Darya a summary of the email. Vidisha was asking to meet at his convenience, claiming to have proof of her brother's involvement in the deaths of her parents. She was hoping after that, the police would treat their deaths as murders and open up an investigation. She was ready to file an FIR and help in any way to make this happen.

  ‘What do we do now?’ the inspector murmured, more to himself than to Darya. ‘Crazy kids. The boy has so many felonies, I wouldn't be surprised if he actually did it. But the girl's no cherub either.’

  The doorbell rang.

  Darya spoke into the phone, ‘Can I call you later? There's somebody at the door. It must be the courier guy.’

  ‘Look carefully before you open. Call me if you see anything suspicious,’ he said. ‘Better still, call Filip. He's right next door.’

  Darya muttered her thanks and ended the call.

  The locksmith and the courier guy came a few minutes apart from each other and for the next two hours Darya had little time to spare. Constable Gawde came in as they were leaving, and spent an hour checking the house for suspicious entryways and escapes, testing the locks and latches, finally giving a thumbs up to everything. He told her he'd try to get patrolling duty in the vicinity and come by every evening to check on her. He left his mobile number in case of an emergency.

  After they were gone, Darya made herself a meal of Maggi and eggs, sat on her uncle's bed, swallowed the curly chunks, and wondered what to do next.

  She woke up from her late-afternoon nap, struggling for her breath, as if a bucket of cold water had been tossed on her.

  The pixels had formed a whole picture; transformed to a crazy thought. Her pulse quickened as it solidified in her head, denser than a dream.

  It was a crazy idea, but what if it worked? In the darkness, this was possibly a way to slide a latch and let some light in.

  She got up. Retrieved her purse. Fetched out a notepad and a pen. Screwed up her eyebrows. Then after a minute or two, wrote down:

  With profound grief, we inform of the sad demise of Mr. Paritosh Nandkarni on 11th April 2009. May his beautiful and kind soul be blessed with eternal peace. In Grief: Farideh (wife), Vikas (brother) and Shaukya (Sister in law). For condolence visit, please call

  She stared at the words for several minutes. Something was not quite right, she thought. It was too straightforward. Too prosaic.

  She thought for a moment, took out her phone, flipped through the images until she found the one she was looking for. Then at the bottom of the page, she wrote carefully:

  There was no love like that of Paritosh and Farideh. We would like to know if you knew them.

  Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears

  TO-DAY of past Regrets and future Fears—

  To-morrow? —Why, To-morrow I may be

  Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years

  She added the house's landline number and hoped the department that handled obituaries at The Goa Times wouldn't ask too many questions.

  She looked at the clock. It wasn't too late to go there yet. Most offices in Goa closed by five pm so she had an hour and half to go. She might just make it.

  On her way to the newspaper's office, Darya rang Francis several times only to reach his voice mail. She left a message asking for him to call back. Thanked him for the locksmith.

  The Goa Time's advertisements and obituaries department was housed in a separate, fancier building. Darya surmised it was because it made the most money for the newspaper. The interiors were done up in bright colours with motivational posters, ribbons and cheery hoardings. She walked to the main desk helmed by a perky young girl.

  ‘You've come to the right place,’ she greeted happily.

  ‘Eh?’ Darya stopped in her tracks, confused.

  ‘Do you want man only in Goa or whole of India? We also have international circulation. But that costs extra,’ she explained.

  ‘Which man?’ Darya asked. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Are you not here to place a matrimonial ad for yourself?’ she asked, disappointed. ‘God, I'm such an idiot. Sorry. Usually girls don't come themselves. Parents come. But seeing you are older and all... I assumed...’

  Darya thrust the paper into her face. ‘I came for this. Can you put this in your newspaper?’

  The girl screwed up her eyes to read the words and gave a small, bored sigh.

  ‘National or local?’ she asked.

  ‘What will it cost me?’ Darya asked.

  She plucked a sheet from a file beside her and pushed it towards Darya: a table of word count, circulation scope and corresponding prices. Darya realized she needed to trim down the number of words if she had to make it within her budget.

  Then she hesitated. There was still time to turn back. She should leave. Now. It was a foolish thing she was doing... spending her hard-earned money on a phantom... an intuition which had turned out to be quite unreliable in the past.

  I should leave.

  The girl was watching her with raised eyebrows. ‘Well?’ she said.

  Or try. One last time.

  ‘National circulation please,’ Darya said. ‘But let me cut down some of the words.’ She took the paper back.

  ‘You can give your email ID instead of phone number,’ the girl said.

  ‘This works better for me,’ Darya muttered, scanning the words. She wondered for a long time what to take out, then finally decided to let it be as it was. Only a few hundred rupees more.

  She handed back the paper.

  After she'd paid, Darya couldn't help but ask. ‘Aren't you wondering what this is all about?’ gesturing at the obituary.

  The girl shrugged. ‘We have all sorts of weirdoes coming in. I only find matrimonial ads interesting,’ she said wistfully. ‘Fair, beautiful, homely girl... tall, handsome, six figure salary MBA boy... Sometimes when they get married, they come here to thank me. It's like a fairy tale and I'm their Godmother.’

  Despite herself, a sigh escaped her.

  ‘There are no fairy tales,’ Darya said, feeling sorrier for her own self than the moon-eyed girl in front of her. ‘None at all.’

  Chased By Shadows

  If anything, his penitent face was more attractive than his normal one. Darya tried to bite down a smile as Francis apologized for not coming with her the day before. From now on he'd be there whenever he needed her, he said.

  ‘As a good friend should,’ Darya prompted.

  ‘Yeah, like a good friend should,’ Francis agreed.

  ‘So, take me out every day. Let's go to all the great places to be and eat in Goa.’

  ‘Not in the next four days,’ he said, not meeting her eye.

  Puzzled, she asked, ‘Why?’

  ‘Aaron is away, and I need to man the store,’ he explained.

  ‘Where's he going?’ Darya asked.

  ‘To meet people for the literary fest. He's going to be travelling a lot.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, disappointed. ‘The week after that then.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, looking cheerful again. His eyes twinkled. They looked almost the same colour now as if a brush had been dabbed in one—the blue one—and used to paint over the other. Not fully, just to mask the colour a bit. It really was mysterious; she had never seen anything like it.

  He broke into her thoughts. ‘I heard you went to his house?’ he said, a mischievous grin on his face.

  ‘About that....’ Darya hadn't told him about her brief escapade in his house, worried Francis might tell him or worse, chastise Darya for snooping around. She decided to keep it to herself for now.

  ‘About that what?’ he asked, his eyes on her.

  ‘Nothing,’ she replied. ‘He's an interesting man. Had some interesting things to say.’r />
  She was glad now that they'd met up. Francis was a welcome distraction from the mire her brain was in.

  He had called up early in the morning to ask whether she wanted to have breakfast with him. Darya had wanted to refuse at first, but he sounded so despondent that she gave in. The place they chose to eat was Infantaria—a long-standing, no-frills bakery that served plentiful breakfast on the busy Calangute beach of North Goa. Francis wanted to order a sausage pulav and Goan chilli fry, but Darya told him it was too early in the day. So, they settled for masala eggs, sausage rolls and milkshakes. After they placed their orders, he apologized, and she accepted after some customary hemming and hawing. Then it was banter as usual.

  ‘I did something weird today,’ Darya said, over her strawberry milkshake. She'd been bursting to tell him and prayed he wouldn't make fun of her.

  He looked up.

  She took in a deep breath.

  ‘I read an engrossing interview of a woman in San Diego a year or two ago. Her daughter had disappeared from the garden of their house fifteen years before. She was three years old. I clearly remember what the mother said of the disappearance... she went in the blink of an eye. One moment I saw her through the window, the next she was gone?’ Darya paused for dramatic effect.

  Francis was looking at her intently.

  ‘Every parent s nightmare, right?’ Darya murmured.

  Francis nodded.

  ‘For fifteen years after that, her parents wondered what happened to her—their darling beloved daughter,’ she said.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Never giving up hope.’

  She looked at him. Held his gaze.

  He stopped eating.

  She dropped her voice to a whisper.

  ‘Do you believe that in life you get signs—like clues to a divine treasure hunt—nudging you towards the right life path?’

  He nodded slowly.

  ‘I do actually,’ he said. ‘Like coincidences, right? Déjà vu?’

  ‘Yes, somewhat like that,’ Darya said. ‘Though not quite.’ She paused, thinking of a better way to explain it. ‘There are signs all around us, and we happen to notice certain things or meet certain people for a reason. A bigger story binds us all. A common thread. And the more open our minds are, the more likely we are to read these signs and move forward. Solve impossible problems.’