The Baneerjee Household

London, April 2019

Looking at the confident girl, seeping her tea, and going over the script, Monty could not help but marvel at the transformation. And he gave credit to himself, oh yes. Pari too had been an uncomplaining, and a quick learner, that he will give her.

He had first seen Pari engrossed with a copy of Daily Mail in his friend's office. When was it, 2016? He had knocked and entered, only to find Ashok's office packed with people. His sudden entry had broken a peaceful setting and the unknown people had looked up with startled smiles. A dark head dragged itself out of the folds of the Mail, and a pair of dark eyes looked at him. They seemed to look through him, all the way out through his back.

He and Ashok had met, on and off; two Bengalis working in the same department, they were bound to. Despite being clannish by nature, they had never got to know each other well, chiefly due to Ashok's self-engrossed nature. But working together on a project, since the beginning of January, there was no way Ashok could avoid him socially.

Ashok had invited him for lunch the next week. Truth be told, Monty had coaxed out a lunch invite. After seeing Pari at the office that day, Monty had wanted to see her again. Those dark eyes had sparked something, he did not know what. Through the entire time that he had been at the Banerjee's, he had surreptitiously eyed Pari. Post lunch, she had vanished inside with the children and did not surface again. Monty knew that Pari had noticed him eyeing her.

After almost two months, after he had been tossing with the idea, day and night, he told Ashok, inviting him to beer on a Friday evening. It was a good summer evening. Still bright and warm, with the flowers in bloom at the outdoor café where they sat. Ashok had tried to avoid the invitation, but as luck would have it, Seema said she would take time to wind up her meeting. He still tried, but Monty could be very persuasive.

It had taken Ashok some time to even understand what Monty was saying. First, he could not fathom why someone who was doing his post doc and had to give it all the living hours available, would like to venture into a business. More so to understand that it was the porn industry that Monty was taking about.

"Do you know anything about porn," he had asked, seriously believing that a business knowledge was needed.

"That way, I did know anything about Genome research till five years back. You have to study it to know it," Monty had replied, to a startled Ashok.

Monty's next question was, "How long is your contract with Pari?"

Like an automan Ashok had said, "this year till October."

"You look like an average working Indian, one who on his way back from office, picks up grocery," his friends tell him that. He smiled, lazily thinking, that indeed was an accurate description. That he had left his post-doc midway, forfeited the scholarship, discontinued all social connections, barring a few, and dived into making porn with a religious dedication, would be unbelievable to most and nauseatingly admirable to some.

To Pari it was unbelievable; to Ashok it was nauseous but because he would never have this kind of courage, was something to be admired.

London, December end 2014

At last the house was empty. Ashok da and Seema di had left with Raahi. Today they were doing the early shift and would drop Raahi to school. Riaan was playing with his soft plastic toys. He was throwing them from time to time and then getting up to retrieve them. His drawing book and colours were scattered on one side. Pari allowed him to do this. She could then sit with her tea and toast and watch some television. Sipping on her strong milk tea, she mentally ran the checklist for the day. Lunch for the children and herself, cleaning the rooms and kitchen, getting Riaan ready and then going to pick up Raahi.

Pari was happy. Her employers were soft spoken people. The chores were nothing that she couldn't manage. For lunch she cooked simple Bengali meals, lentils, less spiced fish curry and a vegetable, all to go with rice. "They should learn to appreciate Bengali food," Seema di would say, when Ashok da suggested sandwich and sausage rolls for the children's lunch. Pari had heaved a sigh of relief and mentally thanked Seema di. Dinner, Ashok and Seema managed. They loved to cook and enjoyed their together time making food, which was totally unlike anything Pari had eaten or knew. All meat were thoroughly enjoyed in the house, though something different was made for Pari on the days they had pork. Even with all the grilled meat and salads, Seema di needed Pari's fish curry and a grudgingly small helping of rice, to wipe off her dinner.

In the evening she usually took the children to the park, if it was not raining. Raahi loved the climbing frame. Her lithe body would make its way nimbly to the top. Riaan on the slide made a cute picture. He would climb the flat broad steps with determination and wait his turn, with the most gentlemanly patient countenance. Before sliding down, he would call, "Paiii, Yiiaan coming," and sit on the top of the slide. He was an ultra-cautious kid. Never one to let go, and land on the bottom, like the other kids, he would hold the sides and carefully slide down. "Chere dao hath, ami acchi," Pari would call out, trying to assure him that she will catch him at the bottom.

When she returned with the two exhausted and happy kids in tow, she would hear Ashok and Seema in the kitchen.

She felt grateful that things had turned out so well.