Madhu blinked at the ceiling after opening her eyes, only to visualize the insides of a big hall, and a chandelier. She turned her head slowly, watching the creamy walls, the granite floors, and the mahogany table, complementing the silken sofas. She realized she was on the couch, in front of an old television. Her eyes were drawn to the towel that was wrapped around her wet shirt and trousers.
She came to her feet only to find a shadow walking behind her. She instantly turned to see the same man she had seen at the door, before she awkwardly collapsed. He was in the same clothes but holding a tray in his hand with a glass of milk.
"I thought..." the man had a gravelly voice, "you must be cold, and so I put on the towel and brought you some warm milk."
"Is it...is it still raining outside?" Madhu tightly clasped the towel around her body. "Still?"
"Yes."
She didn't have to ask in fact. She could hear it clearly; the beating drops of rain.
"You could change your clothes but I didn't want to do that without your permission."
She did want to change but she shook her head. It was all too creepy, to be in such a lonely house, and for a moment she thought whether drinking the milk was going to be a problem. But then she wondered that if the man had to do something, he could've done it already, when she was unconscious.
She took the glass of milk, even though she hated milk, swallowing it sip by sip and letting it warm her throat. She sat back on the sofa while the man walked over to the opposite side, placing the tray on the brown table that was in between them. He sat on the opposite couch.
"My name is, uh, Ashok Dogra," he said as he rolled his up his partially wet sleeves. "I own this bungalow. I'd bought a plot when Gurgaon was in the making. And you?"
Madhu sipped the milk and chose to not reply.
"All right then," Ashok sighed, "it's okay if you don't want to tell me your name but at least tell me what happened out there? My house isn't exactly a prime spot for beautiful ladies like you coming at night." He smiled softly but Madhu didn't like the tone he was speaking in.
She let the milk soothe her throat and then she placed it back over the tray. "I was blindsided. My headlights stopped working and I couldn't see anything. I swerved the car and went off-road."
"So your car is out there? Baba will look into it when the rain stops."
Baba?
She narrowed her gaze quizzically and he understood it instantly.
"My caretaker," he smiled again and she conjured a smile back involuntarily.
"He's been with me for a long time, like a father I never had."
She nodded glumly.
"Where were you returning from at such late an hour?"
"From a funeral."
"Of?"
"Aunt," she sighed. Her aunt was the last member of the family to pass on. Madhu had no parents and her only relative was the aunt who took care of her until she turned eighteen and went to Delhi to pursue her higher studies.
"I'm sorry. I can hear you were quite close to her."
"Hear?"
"The way you say it. You try to show that it doesn't affect you but it does."
His eyes were piercingly gray and she had never seen someone with such an assured look about themselves. But he was right. She had been avoiding the question of her aunt's death or really whatever happened with her. She died of lung cancer at the age of fifty five and it was horrible for Madhu, for she wasn't there for her. And when she did reach Jaipur, she found that she was no more. The lady had been there for me since my birth and I couldn't even return the favor in her death. She hadn't cried, for she wasn't someone who would sob out in open. But in her chest was a beckoning hollow of sadness and grief.
"Have you eaten anything?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"There must be something Baba had made for lunch or you can try my special eggs. That's the only thing I can make," he chuckled but it dried off when Madhu didn't reciprocate. "See, uh, I don't mean to force but you should eat some hot food. I'll warm something for you and till then you can take a hot bath. You were out there in the rain for a while and it must have affected your health. You must get cleaned up. I have switched on the geyser."
Madhu licked her lips in contemplation before she got on to her feet and decided he was right.
*
After taking a shower and letting her body drain off of all the tension she was facing, she got out wearing a bathrobe Ashok had left for her. He even left a kurta and pajama that was light blue in color. There was a brief smile that swept her face as she wore it.
Wearing the comfortable warm clothes, she looked for her phone as she had completely forgotten it. She looked at it hopefully, but it showed no network. Her heart sunk, wondering how many times Vijaya must have called her, for she was supposed to be there by tonight.
Madhu walked outside to the living area, where the food was set on the table; mutton curry and rotis. Ashok was standing, holding out the chair for her.
"Please?"
"I need to make a call."
"Oh, sure," he said and signaled at the vintage brass telephone.
Madhu held on to the receiver and dialed the number. The phone rang for a while until Vijaya picked it up.
"Who's this?"
"Madhu."
"Where the fuck were you?" The tone of concern was more than evident in her voice. "I thought you were supposed to..."
"I know, I know, I am stuck at..." she paused and turned her back towards Ashok, who was listening to the conversation bemusedly. "I'm stuck at the motel as it's raining."
"Which motel?"
"I took a room in Gurgaon," she lied, and she had to, otherwise Vijaya would have gone all South Indian melodrama on her.
"Oh," she mused. "Yeah, I know bad weather and all."
"I'll be out soon, maximum by tomorrow, so don't worry."
"All right but how are you?"
"What do you mean?"
"After the death?"
"Oh I'm...I'm doing fine."
"Well, I'll make hot coffee when you come here and you'll be safe. The storms are scary." There was a giggle on the other end. Madhu hung up the phone and looked back at the man who was elegantly sitting on his chair.
It isn't always that you end up on the doorstep of a handsome man.
She walked and sat adjacent to him. Before she could take the curry, he poured it in a bowl for her and then place three rotis on her plate.
"Thank you."
"Who were you talking to?"
"My roommate."
"In Delhi?"
Madhu nodded. "Why don't you have a digital landline?"
"It doesn't work here." He clenched his jaw as if the word 'digital' hurt him. "You must have realized the place isn't exactly in the proximity of good connection, so no use of having a digital phone. Moreover, I'm not really savvy with these latest technological developments. I'm what you'd call old-school," he smiled sheepishly.
"Then why do you live here?"
"Ah," he grinned as if the answer had infused excitement in him, "because of the seclusion. It helps me write and paint."
"For money?"
He shook his head. "Money isn't really my concern."
"Why?"
"I have enough left by my father to continue my present lifestyle."
"So you like living alone?" She furrowed her brows. "Sorry for disturbing your peace."
"Don't apologize. It was a privilege," he bowed his head a little, acting almost a little rakish.
For a man who stays away from civilization, he sure had social etiquettes and behavior befitting a gentleman. The very words made her cheeks warm and she was apologetically trying to hide her red cheeks.
"I couldn't help but, uh, notice," Madhu began, "these clothes, they belong to a woman. And you said you lived alone with your caretaker, so..."
Ashok took a deep breath as he swallowed a big lump of roti after dipping it in the curry. "You wouldn't like it if I told you."
Madhu didn't want an answer anymore, hoping she hadn't stepped out of line. She noticed the little lines formed around Ashok's mouth. He was old, older than he really looked, perhaps in his early forties.
"They belong to my wife," he began and Madhu stopped chewing her food. He has a wife. He looked up and his face didn't have the same charm or the playful look he had been portraying about himself. His eyes crinkled with hurt, pain and hollowness, as if something harsh had damaged his conscience.
"Where is she?"
"She has been dead." He began, as Madhu's blood froze, "for the last eight years."