Friday and Saturday passed more quietly than Sudharma had expected.
He avoided thinking too much about Thursday night.
By the time the Saturday night bus rolled out of Mangalore, he was simply looking forward to his own bed.
Sudharma reached the flat a little before five in the morning.
The building was quiet except for a television playing somewhere in the distance.
He opened the door carefully.
The smell hit him immediately.
Beer.
Cigarettes.
Food that should have been thrown away the previous night.
A typical Saturday.
Viraj was asleep on the mattress in the hall.
Utsav had somehow reached his own bed but had not bothered with a blanket.
Empty bottles stood near the television.
A packet of chips had been crushed under somebody’s foot.
Sudharma left his bag near the cupboard, drank a glass of water and went to sleep.
Around ten, all three were awake.
Nobody had actually gotten out of bed.
The fan rotated lazily overhead.
Utsav was staring at the ceiling.
Viraj was scrolling through old messages on his phone.
Sudharma was awake but not interested in moving.
“Tea?” Viraj finally asked.
Nobody answered.
Five minutes later all three were outside.
Ramanna’s Bakery looked exactly the same.
The same glass jars.
The same steel counter.
The same men discussing politics as though somebody important was listening.
The tea arrived.
Three cigarettes followed.
Viraj looked at Sudharma.
“Everything okay?”
“Travel fatigue.”
“Hmm.”
The answer did not convince him.
It did not convince Utsav either.
“Good trip?”
“Yes.”
“Good means what?”
“Good.”
Utsav shook his head.
“You came back speaking like a government officer.”
Sudharma laughed.
The conversation moved elsewhere.
For a while.
Breakfast happened at Jayakka’s cart.
Tatte idli.
Chutney.
More tea.
A few regular customers stood nearby balancing plates in one hand.
Viraj waited until Sudharma was halfway through breakfast.
Then he asked,
“Something happened on that trip?”
“No.”
“Definitely something happened.”
“Nothing happened.”
Utsav looked up.
“Did you at least get a number?”
“What number?”
“A number.”
“You realise people have phones already?”
“Don’t avoid the question.”
“There is no question.”
Viraj smiled.
“See? Normally he argues. Today he is escaping.”
That only encouraged them.
For the next fifteen minutes every answer from Sudharma was treated as evidence.
By the end of breakfast he was apparently hiding three relationships and a secret engagement.
Jayakka herself laughed at one point without knowing why.
The flat looked worse in daylight.
Laundry had formed a small hill in one corner.
The water can was empty.
The kitchen sink appeared to be conducting scientific experiments.
Sunday chores began.
Nobody enjoyed them.
Everybody participated.
Viraj washed clothes.
Utsav cleaned the kitchen while complaining continuously.
Sudharma went downstairs twice for water cans.
The room slowly returned to something resembling civilisation.
Around noon, his phone rang.
Ganavi.
He stepped out onto the balcony.
“Back?”
“Since morning.”
“You slept?”
“For a few hours.”
“You’ll sleep in office tomorrow.”
“I usually do.”
She laughed.
“I have first shift tomorrow. Don’t disappear when you come.”
“I won’t.”
“Come to the cafeteria.”
“All right.”
“Good.”
The call lasted only a few minutes.
Nothing unusual.
Nothing new.
When he came back inside, Utsav looked up.
“Ganavi?”
“Yes.”
“Still alive.”
“Disappointing?”
“A little.”
Lunch was simple.
Rice.
Dal.
Omelette.
The three of them ate sitting on the floor because nobody had bothered buying a dining table.
For a while the conversation stayed on cricket.
Then Viraj asked,
“Everything okay between you and Ganavi?”
“Yes.”
The answer came immediately.
Too immediately.
Utsav noticed.
“So planning a new catch?”
Sudharma looked up.
For the first time that day, he did not answer at once.
Viraj put down his spoon.
“There we go.”
“There we go what?”
“There is a story.”
“There isn’t.”
“There is.”
Utsav pointed his spoon at him.
“Office trip?”
“No.”
“New joiner?”
“No.”
“Married woman?”
“Idiot.”
Viraj was laughing now.
“Then who?”
Sudharma shook his head.
Nobody spoke for a moment.
Then he said,
“There is one girl.”
Both of them immediately stopped eating.
“Ah.”
“What ah?”
“What girl?”
He thought for a moment.
How would he describe Jahnavi?
Not the confession.
Just Jahnavi.
“Quiet.”
Utsav looked disappointed.
“That’s all?”
“Very quiet.”
“Still not helping.”
“Traditional.”
Viraj nodded.
“Okay.”
“Uses notebooks for everything.”
Utsav looked confused.
“That is not a personality.”
“Scared of lifts.”
Now both of them were staring.
“What?”
“Scared of lifts?”
“Yes.”
Viraj laughed.
“How old is she?”
“Twenty-two.”
“That makes it worse.”
Sudharma found himself smiling.
He told them about the lift.
Then the notebook.
Then the leech at Jogi Gundi.
Then how she had refused to enter the water at Malpe Beach.
Neither confession nor messages entered the story.
Only the details.
Viraj listened carefully.
Utsav looked increasingly puzzled.
Finally he asked,
“So where is the flirting?”
“There isn’t any.”
“The signals?”
“I don’t know.”
“The plan?”
“There isn’t one.”
Utsav looked at Viraj.
“I don’t understand this story.”
Viraj nodded.
“Neither do I.”
That seemed to satisfy them for the moment.
Later in the afternoon, while folding dry clothes, Sudharma’s phone vibrated.
A message.
Back in Bangalore?
Jahnavi.
He read it.
Folded a shirt.
Read it again.
Then put the phone on the table.
Not because he wanted to ignore it.
He simply did not know what the next message should be.
By evening, the clothes were drying on the balcony.
The kitchen was clean.
The water cans were full.
Monday had started appearing on the horizon.
Viraj was convinced something was going on.
Utsav was convinced something should be going on.
Before sleeping, he packed his office bag.
The phone lay beside it.
Ganavi would be in the cafeteria tomorrow.
Jahnavi would be somewhere on the floor.
The room lights went off one by one.
For a long time, sleep did not arrive as quickly as it usually did.
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