“Pandey, what is up with this man?” Beliram, the beat constable at Marine Drive, asked his colleague Pandey, handing him the tobacco paste.
“Don’t know yaar, he always comes here during the night. I reprimanded him the day before yesterday, told him it’s not safe near the sea at this time.
You know what he said?
He said, ‘The quietness of Mumbai and the music of the waves gives him peace.’ ” Pandey sneered and put the tobacco paste underneath his tongue.
“What should we do now? Should I ask him to go?” Beliram asked.
“Let him be, man. Seems like a sad and lost soul. Eh, look at that couple. Look at what they are doing. Let’s get a hold of them.
Hey!
You guys!
Stop!
What are you doing?” Pandey shouted at the naked couple they had just noticed. The couple who up until now were busy fornicating, heard the constables and hurried inside their car. Beliram and Pandey ran behind them.
Gopal, who until now, was perched atop the marine drive wall and was staring blankly at the sea, turned around to notice what the commotion was about. Noticing Pandey and Beliram running after two semi naked people he smiled a little and turned back to face the sea with a big sigh.
“Why are you sad?” A woman in her mid thirties asked Gopal. He did not seem to hear her question.
“I said why are you sad?” This time she spoke a little louder and Gopal jumped out of surprise.
He turned around and looked at the woman with the most perplexed look he could ever conjure.
“How did you….?
I mean, you weren’t…” He struggled to complete his sentences.She was not there about two seconds before.
She was short and stout. She had draped a blue saree which she matched with a crimson red plain blouse. With a roundish pockmarked face with small eyes and a nose shaped like a snout, she resembled a pig. Her hair, curly and thick, were tied neatly together in a bun behind her head.
“Ohooo Gopal. What is this, ‘you were, you weren’t.’
I asked, ‘Why are you sad?’” She said.
“I am not sad.” He replied.
“Then why do you look sad?” She asked.
“I think you are mistaking me for someone else.”
“You are Gopal, right?”
“Yes.”
“From Champaran?” She asked
“yes.” He said.
“Then I am not mistaken. I mean to speak to you only. .May I come and sit down next to you?” She started walking towards him.
There are two things that would never be scarce in Mumbai. People and hope. Every year more than 40 lakh people migrate to Mumbai from different parts of the country and the world. With them they bring along hopes and dreams. Hopes to find their nesting grounds and dreams of making it big. So when Gopal finally found a place to stay after a month of searching, Gopal could not say no, despite one room being shared by 3 other people. And so every night Gopal would bring his hopes and dreams with him and sit at marine drive and would find solace & solitude in watching the rise and fall of waves. He utilised this time to reflect upon his day gone by and upon his life. Therefore when Roopmala approached him with the intention to sit next to him, he wasn’t particularly pleased with the idea. But before he could say no or figure out an appropriate response, she was sitting next to him.
“I am sorry, is it OK if you sit somewhere else please. I would like to sit alone for some time.” He said.
“OK. I will. But you would have to tell me why you are sad, first.” She replied.
“I really am not sad. And I really do not want to talk.” He said.
“You are telling me you would not talk even if Radha calls you right now?” She said.
He became upright at the very mention of Radha, and looked at her with suspicion.
“You know Radha?” He asked.
“I know Radha and I also know you Gopal.” She smiled.
“ I am sorry but I do not know you. I am very sure that we have never met and I am 100% sure that Radha also does not know you. How do you know us?” He asked.
“Yeah, that is true Gopal, you and Radha both don’t know me. In fact you have never met me and yet I know everything about you both.” She took out a cone full of Masala Chana from inside her purse, poured some channa onto her hand, popped some of them in her mouth and then offered some to Gopal.
Gopal’s head bobbled from left to right, politely refusing.
“Suit yourself.” She said.
“So you don’t want to tell me why you are sad. At Least tell me how Radha is doing?”
“No, I am not going to tell you anything. First you tell me how you know my wife’s name and how you know my name. Who are you?” Gopal finally got the courage to ask her.
“Fine, I get it. Let ME start first. “ She said, putting another handful of chana in her mouth.
“My name is Roopmala. I am originally from Bihar. I had two beautiful kids and a really interesting husband.” She said chewing the chana in her mouth.
“You had?” Gopal interjected.
“Shh!! Don’t interrupt, if you want to listen to my story then let me tell you at my pace. Agreed?” She extended her hand for a handshake. Gopal nodded and chose to keep his hands to himself.
“Alright, if you don’t want to, so be it.” She smiled and pulled back her hand.
“So, where was I, yeah, 2 children and an interesting husband.” She continued.
“ I was born in a super rich family of Bihar. My grandfather was a Zamindar of a big wealthy village. So naturally he had loads of money and lots of power. Many men worked under him. He practically ruled the village and he was a parallel government in himself. So, naturally he ruled with an iron fist.
If he wanted something he would take it. But he helped develop the village like no other in the state. So despite his autocratic methods, which some people in the village did not agree to, he was still revered by the remaining. He even had a temple to his name. So basically we had loads of money. And as the saying goes “Difficult times create strong men. Strong men create easy times and easy times create weak men.”, my father was the weak one. A drunkard. His life was ruled with sensory pleasures. He would drink and eat all day. No wonder he was fat as hell. Do you know what that meant, Gopal?” Roopmala asked Gopal with a scorn on her face for her father. She passed on the chana cone one more time.
“No. I don’t know.” He replied. Also refusing to eat anything that she had to offer.
“It meant that we had scores of enemies.” She said pulling back her chana cone and popping a few chana in her mouth.
“It meant that I was raised by my mother and my grandfather. It meant that I always lived under strict scrutiny lest the only grandchild of my grandfather got hurt. There were always men surrounding me. For my security of course. But what it did was, it ruined my childhood and adolescence. I could not make friends or boyfriends. I could not go out and see the world. The only thing good during my childhood and adolescence was mom’s food. Day in and day out no matter how my day went, my mom’s food always, and I mean always, made me happy. And you know Gopal, my favourite dish was Litti Chokha.”
“Oh. I also…” Gopal’s eyes lit up and he started to speak.
“Shh. I know what you are going to say. But if you want to listen to my story, no interruptions.” She stopped Gopal from speaking.
“ Yeah. So things were bad for me. What was even worse was that I had taken upon my father. Rebellious and obstinate. Despite all the restrictions I would run away from my house to see new things. Have new experiences. But I would always get caught without reaching any place significant. Until the year 2005. In 2005 I had turned 18 and had decided to run away and see Agra. One of my school mates had told me that Taj Mahal was one of the wonders of the world and that one should definitely see it in their lifetime.
So when everyone was sleeping, in the middle of the night, I took my bag with loads of cash and left my house for the train station. The plan was simple. I would reach the train station, wait for the first train that arrived and get off the last station. From that station I would check for the best possible route to Agra and enjoy the Taj Mahal’s beauty. I had imagined that all of this would take about 3 to 4 days and that I would be back by the fifth day. How wrong was I.
As soon as I jumped the compound of my house I was kidnapped. It seems that some people, who did not like what my grandfather did to them, had decided to kill my grandfather and everyone else in the family. They had already stationed themselves outside our house waiting for the right time. But when they saw me leaving the house, they decided that instead of killing my grandfather, which they could any day, they would get some ransom, in lieu of my release, and THEN kill the entire family.
They took me to a hiding place I did not recognize. They tied my hands and legs and gagged my mouth. My eyes were covered with a cloth. I could not see or move. The only thing I could do was listen. And listen I did. I don’t know how long I was there but it was long enough for me to make out that there were a total of 10 men. I could differentiate them based on their voices. At any given time, I could hear the voices of 3 of them. It seemed that they had a shift, of ensuring that I remained hidden. The door to the room in which I was in, would open after regular intervals. I assumed that it was them checking up on me. Food was scarce. There was this one voice which I would hear very rarely. And everytime I heard this voice I had food before me. More often than not it was Litti Chokha. The quantity was not much. Considering that it was days between my two meals, I was always hungry. And therefore Gopal, I could never forget the taste of that Litti Chokha in my mouth. This taste was exactly the same as my mother’s .That Litti Chokha, Gopal, was my home with me at a place where everyone wanted me dead.
Thankfully for me my grandfather was able to find out where I was hidden. So one day the door to the room where I was kept opened and I could hear my grandfather.
“Roopa, beta. My child, Look what they have done to you.” His eyes were wet with tears.
He untied me, removed my gag and engulfed me in his embrace and I cried my heart out with my head against his chest. For me from that point on my grandfather was the safest place in this world. All the rebellion in me had run away. This incident had turned me into the obedient child my grandfather and my mother had always wanted me to be.
After this incident I wanted to live with my grandfather forever. But my grandfather had other plans. He had decided that it was unsafe for me to stay in the village and therefore I had to be married off to a far away village. So he found a Zamindar with a son of marriageable age. The Zamindar’s village was about 100 kms away from ours. He was also of the same caste as ours. So my grandfather came to my room one day and announced that I would be getting married within a week’s time and that my mother and I should prepare me for the wedding.”
“Channe khatam ho gaye Gopal. The channa’s are finished. Can you please call that hawker. He makes some amazing Chana.” Roopmala turned the chana cone upside down to show Gopal that her chana were finished.
“Huh, arey, why did you stop? Wait, let me call him.” Gopal definitely wanted her to continue narrating her story.
“Bhaiya! Bhaiya!! Can you make 5 chana cones for her?” Gopal shouted out to the street hawker, who happened to have been passing by.
Gopal paid the money to the hawker and gave all the 5 cones to Roopmala.
“See now you have not one but 5 chana cones. Happy!! Can you please continue your story now?” Gopal said
“Only on one condition.” Roopmala jocularly told Gopal.
“What?” Gopal asked. A little surprised and irritated.
“You have to taste the chana and tell me how it is?” Roopmal said, smiling, offering him the chana cone.
This gesture from Roopmala broke all the invisible barriers of mistrust they had between them and they laughed like they hadn’t laughed before. They laughed to expel all their worries. They laughed to soak in the moment. To get soaked in the moment. When they stopped, Roopmala started her story.
“Well, if my grandfather had told me to marry, I believed it. After my grandfather was my saviour, my hero. So I complied and got married.
My husband was my age, 18 years old. He belonged to a family 10 times richer than my grandfather. It was only after I had completed a year in the household that I got to know that it was my husband who had approached my father for our marriage. In fact, what was more surprising was that the whole business of the household was handled by my husband, Ranvijay.
They belonged to a family who had migrated to this part of the country and had started Zamindari like other people. They quickly climbed the ladder using their business acumen and became the richest Zamindar in the entire district.
His father was a drunkard as my father was. So when his grandfather decided to pass on the Zamindari, he passed it onto Ranvijay at the age of 15. Within three years my husband expanded the family business into five new areas and increased the net worth of the household by two hundred percent.
My husband, the king of the district, kept me, Roopmala as his queen. I had all the comforts a queen ought to have. I had 2 maids attached with me 24×7 . They would take care of my every need. There was only one exception. Under no condition was I allowed to step outside the house. For my own safety of course. So whenever I felt the need to have Litti Chokha his men would bring plates of the dish for everyone in the house.
To celebrate the occasion which was rare, I would dress myself in the finest and heaviest of silk sarees, highly embroidered blouses and put on so much makeup that people would sometimes get confused if I was going to a marriage.” She took a deep breath and continued.
“You know Gopal, the real reason I used to dress up was, that the taste of the Litti Chokha was the same as the ones I had in that dark room with my hands and legs tied. I suspected sometimes that it was the same person who was making the Litti Chokha at both the places. So I hoped that one day I would be able to meet him and I wanted to be ready for that occasion. That dish reminded me of my mother’s Litti Chokha.
This went on for years. Every week when the big framed, 6’1”, Bhima called for everyone to gather around in the compound, with expensive sarees and heavy make up, I would run towards him with the agility and enthusiasm of a 12 year old girl.
And then one day, when I had my first child, it stopped.
Bhima never again came with the same Litti Chokha. It was always different from what it used to be.
The first time I tasted something different I remember thinking to myself. ‘Must have been a bad day for the hawker. After all people make mistakes sometimes.’
When this continued I thought to myself that the hawker had gone to his village and would be back. For 6 months I eagerly waited for the same taste to come back, but everytime the Litti Chokha was different. It was then that I started asking people about this original Litti Chokha hawker.
Bhima insisted that it was the same hawker and nobody else cared about it. They were satisfied that they got to have their occasional delicacy.
When nothing worked I approached my husband and requested his intervention. He reported back saying that the original vendor had suddenly stopped coming and was not picking up his phone. So Bhima found another one.
I was badly hit by this piece of information. I had formed a unique friendship with this vendor, in my mind. In my mind we already knew each other for years, and he was a part of my family. The Litti Chokha was part of the ritual. Of him visiting us every week. I could not process the fact that somebody so close to me had disappeared and I was not able to do anything about it. So when my husband told me that the vendor had suddenly disappeared, I decided to go and find him myself.
My husband did not take this lightly. For months we had heated debates in our house. One day the regular verbal duel escalated into a physical altercation and I hit him on his face. As a punishment I was kept in a black room for days. By the time I returned from the room, its darkness had seeped into me. I locked and threw my dream of finding out my friend in deep recesses of my heart.
At around this time, we became parents one more time. I went about doing my duties as a mother, as a wife and as a daughter in law of the household with a heaviness in my heart like a dense fog that loomed just above the ground, never touching it. I became withdrawn from reality. I became aloof. I lost my happiness and l lost my smile.
When my youngest son celebrated his 3rd birthday, my father in law died. On his dying bed he summoned his son and made him promise that he would set his ego aside and allow me to go to Mumbai.
Upon being asked about the reason, he revealed that the Litti Chokha vendor had gone to Mumbai and that he was able to sense the emptiness in me and that he could not see me as sad I was.
My husband could not say no to his father’s last wish and as soon as we completed his last rites, he sent me to Mumbai with 4 of his best men. There we rented a house and started living in it.”
“Hold on! You came to Mumbai to find a street vendor you had never seen or met.? Are you insane? Why would you do that?” Gopal could not believe what he had just heard. He was half heartedly expecting Roopmala to shout “Got Ya!” and laugh impertinently. But she did not shout and neither did she laugh.
“Gopal, I understand what you must be thinking about me. Even I at times feel surprised that I did something like that. And I have pondered a lot about it and have understood why I did it. It was my grandfather. He always used to say, ‘Very rarely do you find people who are honest and people who make good Litti Chokha. If you ever find one you should keep them close to yourselves.’
And ever since he had saved me I have come to repose my complete trust on everything that he said. Plus, the only good thing about the time when I was faced with death was the Litti Chokha and the man who made it. So when I tasted the same Litti Chokha that I had tasted during my kidnapping, I knew I had to meet him.
Initially it was just a random urge. But when people stopped me from doing what I wanted to do it took the shape of an obsession. My going to Mumbai was more of an act of rebellion masked behind the urge of meeting this man. I hope you understand Gopal.” She looked at him with pleading eyes, hoping that he would believe. They rested only when Gopal finally said that he understood.
“Thank you, Gopal. Well, I came to a place I had never been to. To find someone that I had never seen. My own hopes and dreams.
I bought a large map of Mumbai and pasted it on my wall. Then I started driving through the Mumbai streets. And where the car could not reach I walked. In search of THE Litti Chokha. At the end of every day Gopal I would mark the map red for the road I had travelled that day.
Day after day I covered the entire Mumbai, ate Litti Chokha of every street vendor in Mumbai and still could not find that man. I must have missed something, I thought to myself and decided to do this again.
After gaining 30 kgs in 2 years, I finally found the Litti Chokha with the same taste.
‘Mam, I had gone to my village for more than 2 years. My father had died. I had to take care of my dying mother.I came back only yesterday.’ He had said, when I told him that I had been looking for him for 2 years.
I smiled at him Gopal, a smile of relief. I took his number and promised him that I would be back the next day for more and that he and I could go for lunch together. I wanted to share my story with him.
He agreed. I paid him and turned to walk towards my car when I was hit by a Jeep.”
“Huh!!” Gopal gasped. The cone fell from his hands. He moved back terrified.
“It is you. I remember that day very well. You were in the same saree that you are today. I rushed you to the hospital after you were hit, along with your men. I wanted to hear your story. On the hospital bed you had summoned me towards you and had asked everyone to leave. You had held my hands and promised me that you would come back to tell me your story.
You were dead.
I saw you die.
How? How? How?” He could hardly muster the courage to speak anything.
“I AM dead Gopal.” Roopmala calmly smiled.
“ I AM dead. But I promised you that I would come to tell you my story. And I always keep my promises.”
With this the woman in the red saree vanished into thin air. All Gopal could see was the waves crashing on the Marine drive stones, as if trying to bring her back from the other side.
