Surangi, The Child Bride

Part 43

Surangi could not decide if it was better to be living back home in the sleepy little village in the traditional abode of her in-laws or here in the fast paced city. Bombay, which was built over with brick and concrete and accommodated more people in a single city block than she had seen in her entire village, only had a few green patches left amid the developed spaces, unlike the verdant greenery of the Konkan. Although Surangi was in Bombay for a short summer break each moment represented a discovery of something new. She loved the conveniences of the city. Nearly all dry goods were delivered by obliging grocers at one's doorstep. She would watch in fascination as the neighbours lowered a basket attached to a rope from the balcony to haul up a fragile cargo of snow white chicken eggs or batches of locally baked bread rolls called laadi-paav. 

Unlike in the village where whatever they consumed was grown on their farm, in Bombay everything had to be bought. The dairyman rang first to deliver a batch of fresh milk each morning. Then Laxmi would arrive, clad in her bright cotton nine yard saree, bearing her wicker basket laden with fresh vegetable produce grown in the gardens in the distant suburbs. She would tempt Vidya with a melange of summer crops- gourds, tender okra pods, amaranth shoots with their lush emerald leaves, bunches of finger bananas, delectable palm fruit and juicy wild mangoes that were fibrous but tasted delicious nevertheless and fat squishy jambhools (jamun fruit) that stained the tongue violet.

"This woman has seen a lot of trouble in her life. It shows up in the dark circles and fat bags under her eyes. And her face is mapped with worry lines. I  recognise the pattern from my own mother's face."  Chandri was quick to report her observations about the vegetable vendor. She could not have been more right. Laxmi had little financial support from her alcoholic husband. Life was indeed hard and she struggled to make ends meet and put food before her three young children. Vidya, who was very supportive of Laxmi,  could easily buy vegetables from the market located a short walk away from her home but she always purchased the goods that Laxmi brought. In the spring she almost bought her entire stock of green mangoes, turning them into toothsome products such as pickles, sherbets and a sweet and sour preserve called moramba, flecked with cloves, cinnamon and cayenne.

"Maybe you should take to selling your mango products instead of gifting them so generously to friends and family!" Manohar would joke. But even he understood why his wife went the extra mile to ease Laxmi's troubles as much as she could.

"Why don't you leave that man? You would be better off without him!" Vidya asked Laxmi.

"Tai, how can I do that? He is the father of my children. And he only spends some of my earnings on strong drink, unlike other men in our neighbourhood who blow a substantial part of their own and their wives wages on liquor and the whores in the brothel. Thank God for small mercies!" Laxmi responded promptly.

"Aho, what is a brothel and who is a whore?" Surangi asked Madhav surreptitiously when they were alone, instinctively knowing that she was treading on forbidden territory.

"Hush! Someone might hear. You are too young to use such words!" 'Madhav chided, more because he thought it was rather scandalous of her to approach him with such a question. To him she was an impressionable child and he did not want her to ponder over such adult issues. 

However in a couple of hours he had overcome his inhibitions enough to drag her aside and explain things, albeit in a rather detached way. He took pride in the mentoring role he played with her and it made him feel restless if she bypassed him to seek information from some other source. 

"A whore is a derogatory word for a prostitute. And a brothel is a place where some men go to buy the services of prostitutes." He unburdened himself.

"But why do married men go there? Should they not be giving all their money to their wives instead?" In Surangi's black and white world this skewed morality of some men was a mystery.

"How would I know? Maybe some people are just not as faithful as others to their spouses ." Madhav did not want to elaborate further.

"Laxmi mentioned that there is a brothel nearby. Did you know about it?" She persisted.

"There is an entire street nearby filled with brothels. The place comes alive in the evenings. Anyway, enough gossip for the day. Go change your clothes, we are going to explore Colaba today!" He cut the conversation short before it could turn more demanding. 

Surangi's natural inquisitiveness was greater than his patience and when she asked about something controversial he had to choose his words carefully, without giving too much away. He could not afford to let her know that his own curiosity about the subject being discussed far exceeded hers and it had been stoked because Shivram would deliberately walk him through that forbidden lane because it would cut short their journey to the market street. Once when they were returning through the lane it was late evening and customers had already begun trawling the street looking for the best bargains to have their desires fulfilled. 

The few kothas that were fragrant with burning essence, attar perfume and mounds of jasmine garlands stood boldly in the midst of all the sleaze and represented the more respectable establishments. Here courtesans who were trained in the classical performing arts dazzled the audience with their singing and dancing skills. The strains of the string instrument called sarangi merged daily with the rhythm of the tabla and the husky voice of the thumri singer. 

Lithe mujra dancers with a thousand small ghungroo bells tied to their ankles matched the beat of the percussion with their precision footwork and seduced the men in the audience with their come hither gestures. Men with more refined tastes patronised these kothas, occasionally whisking away a favourite dancing girl  in their expensive cars for a night of passion for a pre-negotiated price in the privacy of their apartments. 

The seedy brothels were a striking contrasts to these  kothas. They were haunts for men of all ages, mostly working class migrants, looking for a transaction involving affordable and instant gratification. The fee, of course, varied based on the age, the looks and the race of the working girl. The younger, prettier girls with a fair complexion were the most sought after and would cost more. As a teenage boy brought up in a conservative background Madhav's fascination for the business of love for sale was restricted to that of an onlooker. Fortunately he knew enough about the health hazards involved to dare to explore the notorious street himself. It was hard for him to guess if Shivram had more experience there as he exhibited no visible signs of familiarity with the houses of pleasure.

Madhav, Surangi as well as Chandri were enthused enough with the prospect of the oncoming visit to Apollo Bunder, the famous waterfront pier that was a stone's throw away from the grand Taj Mahal Hotel which occupied a place of pride in the city's skyline visible from Bombay harbour. They looked forward to a ride in the famed horse drawn Victoria carriages and waited to be regaled with legends about the luxurious Taj and all the personalities who had made history due to their association with it. After all, Manohar was an excellent raconteur and could make a story come alive with vivid details, almost as if he had witnessed the events himself. Surely an address as famous as this one had to have a treasure trove of stories about it waiting to be told!